U9RARY 

iMV  -'TYOP 

c .  j .  ,    •  NiA 

SAN 


YOUTH, 

6 

'.     ' 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST; 


AND   OTHER 


P  O  E  M  S 


BY    WILLIAM    PLUMER,  JR. 


Turning  th'  accomplishment  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass.  SHAKSPEARE. 


BOSTON : 

•"HARLE8    r.   LITTLE    AND    JAMES    BROWN. 
MDCCCXM. 


Kiitereil,  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1811.  b 

WILLIAM  PI.UMF.R,  JR.. 

in  tli<-  CK'rk's  Ollice  of  tlie  District  Court  of  ihe  District  ' 
New-Hampshire. 


KXKTKR  : 
KR  \NCIS    ORANT's 

C.  Norri<i.  TV. 


PREF  AC  E. 


THE  poerns  arranged,  in  this  volume,  under  the  ti 
tle  of  YOUTH,  OR  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST,  are  so  fur 
connected  with  each  other,  that  they  all  relate,  more 
or  less  directly,  to  thoughts,  feelings,  or  events,  per 
sonal  to  the  author.  His  aim  has  been  to  make  each 
sonnet,  or  short  poem,  complete  in  itself;  yet  so  to 
construct  the  whole  that,  when  combined,  they  should 
t';ill  naturally  into  one  connected  series.  This  series, 
if  finished  according  to  the  original  design,  would 
form  three  separate  Parts  ;  corresponding  to  the  nati. 
ral  division  of  human  life  into  Youth,  Manhood,  and 
Age.  The  first  Part  only,  —  which  traces  the  devel- 
opement  of  the  mental  and  bodily  powers,  in  the  stud 
ies  and  amusements  of  Youth,  —  is  here  presented  to 
the  reader.  It  is  complete  in  itself,  and  has  no  neces 
sary  connexion  with  the  two  remaining  Parts. 


IV  PREFACE. 

In  giving  this  attempt  to  delineate  life  and  character 
so  much  of  a  personal  application,  the  author  has 
been  influenced,  in  part,  at  least,  by  a  distrust  of  his 
ability  to  treat  the  subject  in  a  more  comprehensive 
manner.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  best  describe 
what  he  most  deeply  felt.  His  subject  being  Life,  — 
the  life  of  man,  —  he  has  endeavoured,  instead  of 
treating  it  in  the  abstract,  to  exhibit  what  appeared  to 
him  most  likely  to  interest  the  general  reader,  in  a 
single  life  ;  and  that  life,  the  one  with  which  he  was 
himself  best  acquainted.  This  explanation  will,  it  is 
hoped,  free  him  from  the  charge  of  egotism,  to  which 
he  might  otherwise  be  exposed,  by  showing  that  the 
work  took  the  form  of  personal  narrative,  so  far  as  that 
form  is  adopted,  under  the  influence  of  feelings  the 
reverse  of  vanity  or  presumption.  If  it  abounds  in 
individual  traits  and  local  allusions,  it  is  because  the 
author  felt  himself  most  at  ease  in  his  native  haunt;*, 
and  among  the  friends  and  companions  of  his  early 
years.  If  he  failed  to  make  these  interesting,  he  could 
hardly  hope  for  more  success  in  a  wider  field. 

In  poems,  intended  to  represent  the  changing  hue? 
of  sentiment  and  opinion,  in  the  successive  stages  of 
life,  the  reader  will  not  be  surprised  to  find  some  real, 
and  many  apparent  discrepancies  of  thought  and  feel- 


PREFACE.  V 

ing.  The  author's  general  views  and  sentiments  will 
hardly  be  mistaken  ;  and  the  varying  aspects  of  truth, — 
or,  what,  at  times,  may  appear  as  such,  —  could  not 
be  reproduced  by  him,  with  the  requisite  force  and 
liveliness,  without  assuming  (for  the  occasion)  as  just 
and  real,  the  feeling  or  the  opinion,  which  it  was  in 
tended  to  represent  or  express.  Some  of  these  op 
posite  presentations  are  not  so  much  contradictions  of 
opinion,  as  antagnoist  modes  of  thought  and  action  ;  — 
each  true,  within  certain  limits,  and  neither  complete, 
without  its  accompanying  counterpart.  It  will  readily 
be  believed  that,  in  these  delineations,  the  author  has 
not  felt  himself  bound,  in  all  cases,  like  a  witness  on 
the  stand,  to  the  literal  truth  of  facts  ;  but  that,  while 
aiming  always  at  the  truth  of  nature,  he  has  not  scrup 
led, —  vcris  misccns  falsa, —  to  supply,  occasionally, 
such  poetical  embellishments  as  his  subject  seemed  to 
invite  or  require.  Under  this  saving  clause  of  fiction, 
the  reader  is  at  liberty  to  arrange  whatever  he  finds 
improbable  in  these  sketches,  or  offensive  to  his  better 
judgment. 

The  mottoes  are  intended,  —  some  of  them,  to  ex 
press  thoughts  or  sentiments,   which  the  author  could 
not  so  well  convey  in  his  own  language,  —  and  others 
to  exhibit,   under    a  different  form,   or  with  additional 
1* 


VI  PREFACE. 

circumstances,  the  leading  idea  of  the  poem  to  which 
they  are  prefixed.  In  either  case,  if  the  reader  finds 
his  imagination  excited,  or  his  reflections  deepened, 
by  the  truth,  or  the  fancy  of  the  motto,  he  will,  per 
haps,  be  the  more  inclined  to  look  with  kindness,  on 
the  stranser  who  conies  introduced  to  him.  by  an  old 

'          J 

friend,  in  this  new  connexion.  The  labour  of  select 
ing  these  mottoes  has  tempted  the  author,  in  some  ca 
ses,  to  write  what  he  could  not  so  readily  find  ;  and 
this,  as  the  easier  task,  would  have  been  oftener  done, 
if  he  had  not  aimed,  in  this  part  of  his  work,  at  great 
er  variety,  as  well  as  excellence,  than  his  own  verses 
were  likely  to  supply. 

EPPING,  N.  II.  NOVEMBER  2.  18M. 


CONTEiNTS. 


Page. 

PREFACE  in 


SCENES    FROM  THE     PAS  T. 

BOOK  I. 

Dedication         .              .  .  .              .13 

Introduction      .              .  .  .              .15 

Infancy               .              .  .  .               .17 

Sincerity            .              .  .  .              .18 

Early  Impressions          .  .  .              .19 

Imagination       .              .  .  .              .20 

My  Mother        .             .  .22 

The  Love  of  Nature     .  .  23 

My  Native  Place           ...  2(5 

Leaving  Home  for  School  .  .              .26 

The  Boy  Tyrant            .  .  .              .28 

The  Latin  Grammar     .  .  .              .28 

End  of  the  Term           .  .  29 

Vacation            ...  .30 

The  Play  Ground  30 

The  Swimmer                .  .31 

The  Snow  Fort             .  32 

Skating              .              .  .  .              .32 

The  Swamscot  34 


VIII  CONTKNTrt. 

r.tco 

Improvement    .  37 

Study  fa 

The  Languages  38 

History  39 

Politics  40 

Dinah  40 

Love                  .  43 

School-boy  Passion        .  44 

Ambition           .  4f> 

Farewell  to  Exeter        .  40 

The  Abbot  Jubilee       .  47 

BOOK  II 

Entering  College  53 

The  Freshman               .  54 

First  Visit  to  the  Theatre  54 

Indolence          .             .  56 

Contemplation  57 

Ambition           .  .                                     58 

Devotion            .  .              .         59 

The  Sophomore  60 

On  Horseback                .  .                       61 

The  Unknown  Beauty  .         03 

The  Sleigh  Ride  65 

The  Dance       .  05 

Dissipation        .  .                                    66 

Vice      ...  68 

Excitement       .  69 

The  Junior       .  .70 

Influence  of  Mind  on  Matter  71 


rONTENTS.  -    IX 

Page, 

The  Beautiful  71 

The  Beauty  of  Holiness             .  .             .         7"i 

The  Truth  of  Nature                 .  74 

Music                 .              .              .  .              .75 

Sculpture                      .  .              .  .              .75 

Painting             ...  .77 

Morning  Walk               ...  77 

Evening  Walk               .  .         78 

Walk  in  Winter             .              .  .              .79 

The  Ocean       .             .  81 

The  White  Hills           .  82 

The  Mountain  Streams              .  .             .85 

BOOK  III. 

The  Senior       ...  91 

Design  and  Execution  92 

Poetic  Feelings             .             .  .             .92 

Benefactions  of  Genius              .  .             .         94 

The  Prophets  94 

Milton                .  95 

Homer  9(> 

Tasso  97 
Shakspeare        .                            ...         98 

Pope     .  99 

Poetic  Inspiration  .        100 

Free  Inquiry     .  .        102 

Doubt  .             .       103 

The  Birth  of  Truth       .  .104 

Metaphysics      .  105 

Oriinal  Genius  10(>£ 


X  CONTENTS. 

!•;.••<• 

Imitation  .        lOt* 

Moral  Truth     .  K*v 

Duty  H<» 

Conscience        .  .                                           .110 

Virtue  .        113 

Knowledge        .  .                                         .114 

My  Clium          .  .115 

College  Friendships  .        IK! 

The  Farewell  117 

The  Departure  120 

The  Centennial  Celebration      .  .121 

Conclusion  124 


O  T  II  F.  K  P  0  E  M  S. 

King  Philip      -  27 

Love  and  Glory  -         31 

The  Coquette  Distressed  -          33 

Henry  and  Ellen  :{4 

Henry  -          35 

Ellen  -         :$<J 

First  Week  in  June      -  13h 

Conjunction  of  Venus  with  the  Moon                -        140 

The  Red  Oak  -       140 

Notes                -  143 


A  SERIES  OF  POEMS. 


It  is  the  voice  of  years  that  are  gone  '. 
They  roll  before  me,  with  all  their  deeds  ! 

OSS1AN. 


DEDICATION 


HON.    FRANCIS    C.    GRAY. 


CLASSMATE  AND  FRIEND  !  if  haply,  in  these  lays, 
Thine  eye  discern  the  forms  that  yet  remain 
Of  years  long  past,  —  youth's  pleasure  and  its  pain, 

Its  hopes,  fears,  studies,  —  thine  applause  repays 
Largely  the  poet's  labour  :  so  he  gain 
Thy  kind  approval  of  his  humble  strain, 

He  heeds  not,  then,  the  cold  indifferent  gaze 
Of  distant  strangers.     Feelings  that  outlive 

Long  absence,  toil,  and  strife,  mid  haunts  of  men, 
Still  to  this  breast  their  youthful  ardour  give, 

By  time  unchanged.     Accept  his  offering  then, 
Who  seeks  not  now  vain  blazon  of  renown  ; 

So  health  be  his  and  leisure,  book  and  pen, 

And  friendship's  generous  wreath  his  brows  to  crown. 
2 


YOUTH 


A   SERIES  OF  POEMS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

Mv  sun  is  past  its  zenith  ;   and  the  blaze, 

That  burned  so  brightly  in  youth's  glowing  skies, 
Is  tempered  now,  by  swelling  clouds  that  rise, 

Jn  life's  decline,  to  shade  his  parting  rays. 

What  marvel  if,  at  times,  remembrance  strays 
Rack  to  those  scenes,  whose  living  image  lies. 
Mid  dews  of  morn  and  bloom  that  never  dies, 

In  sunshine  pure  of  life's  first  balmy  days. 

Youth  —  childhood  —  infancy  —  before  my  sight 
Successive  rise,  in  colours  clear  as  bright ; 

Thence  ripening  into  manhood's  sober  hues, 

Come  milder  forms,  whose  mellow  tints  presage, 
Not  undesired,  those  softening  shades  of  age, 

Which  closing  day  must  o'er  the  scene  diffuse. 


CONTENTS. 

INFANCY — Sincerity — Early  Impressions — Imagination — .My  Moilu-r — 
The  Love  of  Nature — My  Native  Place — Leaving  Home  for  School — 
The  boy  Tyrant — The  Latin  Grammar — End  of  the  Term — Vacation — 
The  Play  Ground — The  Swimmer — The  Snow  Fort — Skating — Tl»- 
Swamscot — Improvement — Study — The  Languages — History — Politic-. 
— Dinah — Love — Schoolboy  Passion — Ambition — Farewell  to  I'.virr 
— The  Abbot  Jubilee. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST 


BOOK    FIRST. 


INFANCY. 
I. 

Visions  of  childhood  !  oft  have  ye  beguiled 
Lone  manhood's  cares,  yet  waking  fondest  sighs. 

COLERIDGE. 

FAIN  would  my  wandering  steps  retrace  the  stream 
Back  to  its  source,  and,  at  the  fountain,  see 
The  springs  of  life,  in  hours  of  infancy, 

And  childhood's  joys.     Scarce  memory  can  redeem, 

From  time,  faint  glimpses  of  that  early  dream. 
When  young  existence,  full  of  life  and  glee, 
Mid  sounds  of  gladness  on  the  parent's  knee, 

From  kindred  looks  saw  joy's  bright  image  beam  : 
The  father's  love,  the  mother's  fond  caress, 
With  smiles  repaid  of  infant  happiness. 

The  simplest  toy  could  rapture  then  supply; 
Bell,  ring,  or  whistle,  ball  or  top,  each  threw 

Us  charm  alike,  on  ravished  ear  or  eye, 

Where  all  seemed  beautiful,  for  all  was  new. 
2* 


18  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

II. 

Hi«  lirow  is  bright  with  gleams  of  thought, 

Not  yet  by  care  invaded  : 
To  him,  not  yet,  hath  nature  taught 

Those  truths,  by  sorrow  shaded, 
That  ronie  too  soon,  the  breast  to  wring 
With  love's  regret,  and  envy's  sting. 

Yes,  all  is  beautiful,  while  all  is  new  ; 
Ere  dull  satiety  comes  in,  to  cloy 
Each  fresh  enjoyment  of  the  ardent  boy, 

Or  cloud,  with  time's  disgust,  his  sated  view. 

With  hopes  still  buoyant,  feelings  warm  as  true, 
Mere  novelty  can  now  each  sense  employ. 
And  new-born  wonder  every  scene  enjoy, 

With  warmth  of  love,  no  time  can  e'er  renew. 
Who  would  not  live  again  those  days  of  youth, 
Of  simple  pleasures  and  confiding  truth, 

When,  each  disguise  of  later  years  unknown. 
Our  words  are  deeds  ;   and  every  rising  thought, 
To  nature  true,  is  into  action  wrought, — 

Pleasure  our  aim,  but  truth  our  guide  alone. 


S  I  N  C  E  R  I  T  Y. 


Tiie  heart's  light  laugh  pursues  the  circling  jeM, 
And  all  is  sunshine  in  each  little  breast ! 

ROGERS. 

Observe  yon  children  playing,  and  behold 

What  trilles  please  —  how  roused  by  word,  or 
By  mimic  gesture,  harmless  prank,  or  wile. 

In  gay  good  humour  acted  !  Though  the  old 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Too  oft  with  scorn  regard  them,  these  take  hold 

Of  youthful  fancies,  and  young  hearts  beguile 
With  pleasure,  springing  fresh  from  sympathy. 

'Tis  this  which  gives  in  youth  each  word  and  sign 
Its  lively  import, —  where  the  child  can  see 
Truth  in  each  thought  and  movement, —  nature  free 

From  fraudful  art,  and  harbouring  no  design 
Oblique.     While  age,  mistrustful,  seeks  to  find, 
In  fairest  deeds,  some  bias  of  the  mind, 

Fond  youth,  undoubting,  knows  not  to  refine. 


EARLY    IMPRESSIONS. 
I. 

Wax  to  receive,  and  marble  to  retain.  BVRON. 

Thoughts  that  survive  to  life's  remotest  hour, 
Their  impulse  oft  from  early  childhood  bring  : 
Like  swelling  streams,  from  slender  rills  that  spring 

Mid  sylvan  solitudes,  whose  shades  o'ertovver 

Those  infant  waters  in  their  cradling  bovver. 
I  can  remount,  on  memory's  faithful  wing, 
To  trains  of  early  thought,  whose  tendrils  cling 

To  manhood's  growth,  with  still  increasing  power  : 
Habits  of  rnind,  and  modes  of  thought  imprest, 
In  youthful  ardour,  on  the  pliant  breast ; 

Thy  subtle  folds,  Opinion  !  round  me  cast, 
For  good  or  ill,  ere  reason  yet  could  guide, 

Or  slow  experience,  pondering  on  the  past, 
Its  sage  monitions  for  my  use  provide. 


20  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

II. 

The  oak,  whose  brandies  shelter  now  the  herd, 
Was  once  an  acorn  ;  and  its  gnarled  trunk, 
That  shook,  a  sapling,  in  the  summer  breeze, 
Defies,  lull  grown,  the  tempest's  angry  sweep. 

Who  has  not  felt  how  growing  habits  cast 

Their  slight  but  binding  chains  round  opening  life  ! 

Each  link  a  pigmy  thread,  yet  holding  fast 

The  sleeping  Gulliver  !     What  toil,  what  strife. 

What  effort  now,  to  burst  from  bonds  away, 
That  once  seemed  slender  as  the  filmy  slime 
Arachne  weaves  —  till  hardening  fust  with  time, 

The  chain  grows  adamant,  and  binds,  today, 

The  heart  that  scorned,  so  late,  the  passion's  swav, 
As  powerless  then.     Youth's  ductile  gold,  enchased 

By  virtue's  guiding  hand,  is  shaped  with  ease 

To  use  and  beauty ;  but,  intent  to  please, 
If  folly's  legend  round  the  gold  be  traced, 
It  hardens  into  vice,  by  crime  debased. 


IMAGINATION. 
I. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  it  : 

Yea,  when  the  cold  blood  shoots  through  every  vein, 
There  is  a  joy  in  fear.  EAII.LIK. 

Early  impressions,  on  the  youthful  mind 
Take  firmest  hold,  by  fear  on  fancy  bred  : 
My  childhood  heard,  with  mingled  joy  and  dre.uc 

Of  ghost  and  goblin  dire,  —  the  power  combined 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.        21 

Of  evil  men  with  evil  spirits  joined  ; 
Of  blood  of  innocence,  in  secret  shed, 
By  ruffian  stealing  to  the  peaceful  bed  ; 

The  poisoned  cup ;   the  death  blow  dealt  behind  ; 
Each  thrilling  tale  of  strange  mysterious  power  ; 
Sights  dimly  seen,  at  midnight's  witching  hour, 

And  sounds  unearthly,  heard  in  caverns  lone  ; 
Till  fond  credulity  received  with  awe, 
As  truths  undoubted,  all  that  fancy  saw, 

Or  fear  imagined,  of  the  world  unknown. 


II. 

The  paths  of  error,  winding  though  they  seem, 
Conduct, —  not  seldom,  —  to  the  house  of  truth  ; 
And  oft  can  fiction,  in  wild  fancy's  sport, 
Flash  light,  where  reason  pours  a  feebler  ray. 

Nor  vain  such  tales  of  wonder,  —  since  they  bring. 

Early  and  strongly,  to  the  opening  mind, 

Views  of  futurity,  and  help  unbind 
Those  clogs  of  earthly  sense,  that  heavy  cling 

To  soaring  thought.  The  mind  that  scorns,  in  youth. 
The  world  of  spirits,  proud,  in  age,  will  fling 

All  reverence  by,  —  unmindful  of  the  truth, 
Deepest  and  best  assured,  that  fancy's  wing 

Must  imp  the  flight  of  reason,  ere  on  high 
She  spread  her  heaven-ward  pinion  —  else  to  dwell, 
Cold,  heartless,  sneering,  in  the  skeptic's  cell. 

Faith,  feeling,  fancy,  each  must  aid  supply 

To  reasons  powers,  which  else,  in  vain  would  try 
Man's  doubts  to  solve,  his  boding  fears  to  quell. 


22  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

MY    MOT  II  E  R. 
I. 

Mv  eyes  arc  dim  with  childish  tears, 
My  heart  is  inly  stirred  ; 
Those  sounds  of  love  arc  :.i  my  cars, 
That  first  my  childhood  heard. 

Aiteret!  from  WORDSWORTH. 

My  mother  !  how  cnn  I  repay  the  debt 

My  whole  life  owes  thee  —thine  assiduous  care, 
That  watched,  ere  yet  I  breathed  this  vital  air, 

And  still,  unwearied,  knows  not  to  forget 

Its  wonted  kindness.     Memory  values  yet, 
As  first  and  choicest,  mid  her  treasures  fair, 
That  fond  maternal  wisdom,  rich  as  rare, 

Which  all  my  wants  with  kind  prevention  met. 
Fountain  of  life!   from  thee  my  young  lips  drew 
Those  streams  of  kindly  nurture,  which  imbue 

Man's  rugged  nature,  s;ivage  else  and  vile, 
With  female  softness  :  tempering  heart  and  brain 
With  mild  yet  lofty  virtues,  taught  in  vain 

By  ought  less  holy  than  a  mother's  smile. 


II. 


"  He  know  no  mother's  care,"  Oh  pardon  then 
His  lolly,  or  his  guilt,  —  if  he  should  prove 
Vicious  alike  as  wretched. 

Oft,  when  my  sports  (as  youth  is  thoughtless  still) 
Grew  harsh  or  cruel,  mildly  hast  thou  said, 

Seek  not,  my  son  !  thy  cup  of  joy  to  fill 
From  others'  suffering  :  evil  on  the  head 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  23 

Of  evil  doers  will  her  vials  shed 
Often  fold  vengeance  on  the  vicious  will  ; 

Then  be  not  cruel  ;  nor,  with  wanton  tread, 
Crush  needlessly  the  worm  beneath  thy  feet  : 

Yet  be  not  thence  effeminate  ;  nor  dread, 
When  duty  calls,  rejoicingly  to  meet 

Toil,  suffering,  danger,  in  each  generous  cause, 

Thy  God's,  thy  friends,  thy  country's  and  her  laws; 
So  shalt  thou  find  e'en  painful  duty  sweet, 

Tempered  by  love  and  crowned  with  just  applause. 


THE    LOVE    OF    NATURE. 
I. 

What  call'st  thou  solitude  ?  Is  not  the  earth 
With  various  living  creatures,  and  the  air 
Replenished,  —  and  all  these  at  thy  command, 
To  come  ami  play  before  thee  ?  MILTO5. 

I  can  remember,  ere  my  years  had  told 
Their  second  lustre,  how  I  loved  to  be 
Alone  among  the  woods ;   to  wander  free 

Beside  the  neighbouring  streamlet,  and  behold 

The  small  fish  darting,  where  the  waters  rolled 
Above  the  smooth  worn  stones  ;  to  stand  and  see 
The  lively  squirrel,  on  the  broad  beach  tree, 

Rattling  the  nuts  down,  chittering  to  his  mate, 
Or  bounding,  bird-like,  onward ;  then  to  chase 
The  gaudy  butterfly  ;  or  pause  and  trace 

The  ant-hill's  busy  tribe,  its  ordered  state, 
And  well  ranked  industry  ;   an  idler  I, 
Yet  busy  as  the  blackbird  chattering  by, 

And  heedless  of  returning  soon  or  late. 


24          SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


II. 


How  lonesome  !  how  wild  !  yet  the  wildiiess  is  rife 
With  the  stir  of  enjoyment,  the  spirit  of  life. 

WILSON. 


Chide  not  my  wanderings,  mother  !  nor  believe 
That  danger  waits  me  here  ;  the  dreaded  snake 
Flies  from  me  harmless,  harbouring  in  the  brake 

The  stream  is  shallow,  where  the  fish  receive 
The  crumbs  I  throw  them  ;  'tis  a  merry  sight 
To  see  them  leap  thus  sudden  into  light, 

Then  sink  as  soon :  the  woodpecker  hard  by 
Taps  on  the  tree,  unheeding ;  redbreast  takes 
The  food  I  give  him,  nor  my  side  forsakes, 

So  well  he  knows  me !  but  in  vain  I  try 

To  win  upon  the  partridge  ;  wild  and  shy 
I  hear  her  drumming  on  the  fallen  tree, 
Remote,  unsocial  :  well,  the  bird  is  free, 

And  loves  the  covert  —  so  in  truth  do  I. 


III. 


Flowers  worthy  Paradise,  which  not  nice  Art, 
In  beds  and  curious  knots,  but  Nature  boon 
Pours  forth  profuse.  MILTON. 


No  spot  so  distant,  in  this  spacious  vale, 
But  I  had  won  it, —  whether  hill  or  plain, 
Forest  or  cultured  field, —  intent  to  gain 
Aquaintance  with  each  flower  that  doth  inhale 
The  breath  of  morn,  or  lurk  in  sheltered  dale, 


SCENES  FUOM  THE  PAST.  25 

Rock-side,  or  margin  of  the  winding  brook. 

Eager  I  sought  where  earliest  blossoms  grew, 
Of  liver-leaf  and  columbine,  each  nook, 

Where  sweetest  scented,  in  the  morning  dew, 
The  Azalea,  May  Flower,  Lily  of  the  Vale, 
The  Eglantine,  and  Fancy,  on  the  gale 

Their  bloom  and  fragrance,  all  unheeded,  threw. 
Thus  lone,  yet  happy,  passed  each  busy  hour, 
Gay  as  the  bird,  expanding  like  the  flower. 


IV, 


They  had  been  playmates  in  their  infancy ; 
And  she  in  all  his  thoughts  had  borne  a  part; 
And  all  his  joys.  SOUTHEY. 


Nurtured  in  solitude,  this  feeling  grew 

A  sense,  a  passion,  a  reflective  joy, 

Ingrained,  or  native,  e'en  while  yet  a  boy  ; 
And  still,  in  age,  survives,  unchanged  as  true. 

Half  murmuring  to  myself,  or  wandering  oft, 
In  social  silence  pleased,  afar  I  strayed, 
Sister  !  with  thee,  in  rapture  through  the  glade, 

Too  happy  for  discourse  !  Pervading  soft, 
Resistless  though  unseen,  the  gentle  force 
Of  genial  nature  guided  still  our  course  : 

Bird,  beast,  field,  forest,  summer  shower,  or  wind, 
Hill,  valley,  streamlet,  to  the  softened  breast 
Could  each,  in  turn,  enduring  thoughts  suggest, 

And  mould,  with  plastic  power,  the  yielding  mind. 
3 


26  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


MY    NATIVE    PLACE. 

Sweet  interchange 
Of  hill,  and  valley,  river,  woods,  and  plains.          MILTON. 

What  wonder  if  the  love  of  nature  then 

Was  strong  within  me ;  e'en  from  childhood's  dawn 
Ere  yet  I  mingled  with  the  herd  of  men, 

Or  wandered,  from  my  native  vale  withdrawn. 
The  genius  of  this  quiet  spot  serene 

Wrought  on  my  heart,  and  sways  its  movements  still 

The  gentle  curvature  of  yonder  hill, 
Clothed  to  its  cultured  top  with  living  green, 

The  river's  steady  flow,  the  clattering  mill, 
Yon  blue-topped  mountain,  far  and  faintly  seen, 
With  wooded  hills,  and  verdant  vales  between, 

The  farm-house's  busy  group,  yon  winding  rill, 
Each  on  my  infant  mind  left  lasting  trace, 
Heart  bound,  and  wedded  to  my  native  place. 


LEAVING    HOME    FOR   SCHOOL. 


I. 


And  then  the  whining  school  boy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping,  like  snail, 
Unwillingly  to  school !  SHAKSPEARE. 

The  loss  of  home,  —  how  poignant  was  the  grief, 
When,  from  the  parent  roof  constrained  to  part, 
Its  bitter  pang  transfixed  my  youthful  heart ! 

The  world's  cold  kindness  gave  not  then  relief, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  27 

But  sickened  rather.     Oft  the  tear  would  start, 
Unbidden,  while  the  dear  domestic  scene 
Rose  on  my  view,  with  bitter  thoughts  between  : 

But  then,  with  scornful  laugh,  came  one,  who,  young 
Yet  early  hardened,  could  such  pain  deride, 

And  taunt  my  weakness  with  sarcastic  tongue, 
That  shamed,  at  once,  and  roused  me  :  manly  pride 
And  just  resentment  dashed  the  tear  aside ; 

Yet  could  not  long  the  rising  grief  o'rrule, 

Home  sick,  heart  riven,  by  that  first  week  at  school. 


II. 


Shades  of  the  prison  house  begin  to  close 
Upon  the  growing  boy.  WORDSWORTH. 


Possessions  that,  while  held,  are,  in  our  eyes, 
Deemed  little  worth,  to  tenfold  value  rise, 

When  held  no  more.     'Tis  thus,  in  nightly  dream. 
My  home  sick  fancy  revels  mid  the  joys 
Of  untasked  youth,  and  sports  of  happy  boys. 

Night  still  restores  me  to  my  native  stream, 
An  infant  architect,  where  oft  my  hand 
The  mud-dam  built,  or  water  wheel  had  planned  ; 

Or,  panting  from  the  summer's  sultry  beam, 
Framed  leafy  arbours  in  the  secret  dell, 

Or  chambers  hollowed  in  the  yielding  sand ; 
Of  these  more  proud  than,  since,  in  larger  scheme 

Of  later  life  :  can  vaunting  manhood  tell 

Why  better  worth,  since  ne'er  enjoyed  so  well  .' 


28  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


THE    BOY    TYRANT. 


See  how  he  l>eats,  whom  he  has  just  reviled, 

And  made  rebellious,  that  imploring  child.        CRABBE. 


Among  my  early  inmates  there  was  one, 
The  scorn  alike  and  terror  of  the  school ; 
Subtle,  unfeeling,  in  his  malice  cool, 

And  patient  in  revenge,  no  favours  done 

Moved  his  base  soul,  or  e'er  to  kindness  won. 
Fearless  as  false,  he  aims  alike  to  rule 
By  force  and  fraud  :  each  idler  is  his  tool, 

The  timid  fear  him,  and  the  prudent  shun. 
In  vice  unwearied,  'tis  his  daily  joy 

To  gull  the  ignorant,  the  good  betray  ; 
But  chief,  the  sensitive  and  tender  boy, 

Now  to  his  arts,  to  lure,  unwares,  astray ; 
Then  turn  informer,  and  his  dupe  defame, 
Himself  unharmed,  and  glorying  in  his  shame. 


THE    LATIN    GRAMMAR. 

The  drilled  dull  lesson,  forced  down,  word  by  word.         BYRON. 

The  Latin  Grammar  —  can  I  think  again, 
In  patience,  on  that  sickness  of  the  heart, 
When  words  of  uncouth  sound  and  rules  of  art. 
To  me  unmeaning,  as  replete  with  pain, 
Sought  entrance  first  on  my  reluctant  brain. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  29 

Till  then  indulged,  I  ne'er  had  known  the  smart 
Of  task  enforced  :  my  memory  could  retain 
The  hymn,  or  prayer,  or  ballad's  simple  strain, 

Caught  from  those  lips  maternal,  which  impart 
Knowledge  at  once  and  pleasure,  eye  and  ear 
To  that  mild  teacher  open  still  and  clear ; 

But  closed  on  him  who  seemed  not  to  discern 
How  kindness  quickens,  while  disgust  and  fear 

Palsy  the  mind,  which  ceases  thence  to  learn. 


END    OF    THE    TERM. 


In  thoughtless  gaiety,  I  course  the  plain, 
And  Hope  itself  is  all  I  know  of  Pain. 

WORDSWORTH. 


THE  TERM  is  ENDED  !  what  more  grateful  sound 
To  mortal  ears  !  to  toil-worn  judge  sedate, 
To  weary  lawyer,  doomed  on  courts  to  wait, 

And  client,  not  less  wearied,  who  has  found 

His  endless  law-suit,  for  a  rood  of  ground, 
Engulfing  acres  !  Welcome  is  the  date, 
That  turns  the  'prentice  from  his  master's  gate, 

Or  sees  the  minor  with  full  freedom  crowned. 
But  nor  to  minor,  swelling  with  the  pride 
Of  coming  freedom  ;  not  when  courts  decide, 

Or  jurors  can  agree  ;  not  from  the  bar 
When  learned  counsel  hasten,  is  their  joy 
Like  his,  the  rapture  of  that  term-worn  boy, 

Released,  and  journeying  to  his  home  afar. 
3* 


30  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


VACATION. 


All  now  is  confidence,  the  fresh  o'erflow 
Of  hearts,  that  feel,  the  transport,  they  bestow 
And  then  how  pleasant  all  old  haunts  to  view. 
Each  comrade  greet,  and  former  loves  renew  ! 


Warm  is  the  welcome  from  each  well  known  face, 

That  smiles  beneath  that  old  paternal  roof: 

And  manifold,  as  tender,  is  the  proof 
Of  interest,  that  each  inmate  of  the  place 
Feels  in  me  still,  while  all,  with  wonder,  trace 

Each  change,  in  form  or  manner,  time  has  wrought. 
Since  last  we  parted.     In  that  warm  embrace, 
The  charities  of  home  and  kindred  race 

Revive  once  more,  with  tenfold  pleasure  fraught. 

But  ah  !  how  brief  that  pleasure  • —  soon  the  thought 
Of  parting  grieves  :  yet  transient  is  that  pain, 
The  first  home  sickness  never  comes  again  ; 

Or  comes,  so  softened,  that  the  pensive  grief 

Yields  pleasure,  rather  than  demands  relief. 


THE    PLAY    GROUND. 


Fearless  they  leap,  and  every  youngster  feels 
His  Alma  active  in  his  hands  and  heels. 


The  sports  of  youth,  and  all  the  youthful  train. 
Each  dear  familiar  object,  to  my  sight 
Returns,  renewed,  in  all  its  old  delight, 

As  through  these  haunts,  with  mingled  joy  and  pain. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  31 

I  roam  once  more,  they  all  are  here  again, 

Each  spot  so  loved  of  yore;  with  dexterous  sleight, 

The  marble  glancing  to  its  destined  aim, 

The  kite,  the  cricket,  and  the  hardier  game 
Of  foot  ball,  bounding  o'er  the  trampled  plain  ; 

The  glowing  brow,  flashed  cheek,  and  eye  of  flame, 
The  toil  to  win,  the  effort  to  retain  : 

And  lo !  yon  youth,  another,  yet  the  same, 
My  boy,  —  with  foot  as  restless  in  the  chase, 
As  erst  his  sire's,  when  foremost  in  the  race. 


THE    SWIMMER. 


Flinging  the  billows  back  from  my  drenched  hair. 
And  laughing  from  my  lips  the  audacious  brine  '. 
BYRON. 


The  glowing  fervours  of  the  summer  sun 

Make  grateful  now  the  stream,  wherein  to  lave 
Our  languid  limbs,  and  sport  along  the  wave. 

And  see  yon  tender  stripling,  who  hath  run 

In  haste,  yet  pauses  ere  the  feat  be  done  : 
Lingering  yet  longing,  fearful  and  yet  brave, 
He  plunges  headlong  to  the  Nereid  cave, 

Emerging  soon,  with  spoils  from  Neptune  won. 
See  too  yon  puny  Cassius*  of  the  tide 
His  Caesar  daring  through  the  waves  to  glide, 

For  yonder  point,  that  distant  lures  the  eye. 
The  stream  they  buffet  now,  with  manly  pride, 
And  lusty  sinews,  throwing  it  aside, 

With  hearts  of  controversy,  beating  high  ! 

*Julius  Caesar,  Act  I,  Scene  II. 


32  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


THE    SNOW    FORT. 

Their  sinews  grow 
Firm  mid  the  gladness  of  heroic  sports.          TALFOURH. 

Nor  less  our  winter  joys  ;  'tis  now  the  time 
For  strenuous  action  :  on  each  adverse  height 
The  snow  built  fort  provokes  the  hardy  fight. 

By  numbers  guarded,  yet  can  courage  climb 
The  steep  ascent ;  while  passions,  that  incite 
Man's  later  years  to  virtue's  daring  flight, 

Here  spring  to  life,  in  strength  of  youthful  prime. 
Ambition,  valour,  hope's  aspiring  aim, 
Contempt  of  danger,  generous  thirst  for  fame, 

Give  strength  to  fragile  limbs  ;  and  force  impart 
Of  manly  daring  to  youth's  slender  frame. 

Conduct  is  here  might  grace  the  soldier's  art, 
Or  statesman's  policy;  their  hopes  the  same, 
In  manhood's  toils,  and  youth's  adventurous  game. 


SKATING. 


They  ask  no  other  gem,  nor  wealth, 

Save  nature's  gifts  of  youth  and  health.        BYKO: 

'Tis  evening,  and  the  winter's  sky  is  fair ; 
Away  with  books  then,  and  the  musty  rules 
Of  solemn  pedants  in  their  pent  up  schools  ! 

While  sloth  lies  slumbering  on  his  easy  chair, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  3J 

Our  young  limbs,  hardened  by  the  frosty  air, 
Are  strung  for  pleasure  ;  as,  with  eager  cry, 

Pursuing  and  pursued,  we  mock  at  care, 

Our  sharp  skates  hissing  o'er  the  icy  glare. 
Yon  pool  is  open,  but  our  thoughts  defy 

Its  crackling  ice ;  as  wheeling  swift  we  dare 
Its  verge  approach,  and  blindly  rush  to  try 

Who  first  may  nearest  reach,  who  best  compare 
In  rival  rashness  :  sport  with  danger  joined, 
What  charm  more  potent  for  youth's  fearless  mind  ! 


II. 


In  little  bosoms  such  achievements  strike 
A  kindred  spark  ;  they  burn  to  do  the  like. 


Hark  to  the  shout,  the  challenge,  the  reply  ! 

The  goal  is  yonder  headland,  far  away  : 

What  miles  are  traversed  in  the  nimble  play 
Of  youthful  limbs  ;  while  hot  blood  mounts  on  high, 
Warm  hearts  beat  quick,  as,  sweeping  swiftly  by, 

We  onward  press,  impatient  of  delay  : 
Nor  pause  we  now,  in  pity  for  the  fall 
Of  luckless  comrade,  passed  alike  by  all 

With  peals  of  merry  laugh,  that  rend  the  skies. 

Up,  and  away  ;  thou  yet  may'st  win  the  prize, 
If  hope  desert  not,  nor  base  fear  appal  ; 

Then  up,  and  on  —  But  hark  !  with  accent  clear, 

Yon  bell,  loud  sounding,  checks  our  fleet  career, 
And  home  we  turn,  obedient  to  its  call. 


34  SCENES    FROM    THE    VAST. 


THE    S  W  A  M  S  C  O  T. 


Now  reigns 

Full  orbed  the  Moon,  and  with  more  pleasing  light 
Shadowy  sets  forth  the  face  of  things  ;  in  vain, 
If  none  regard.  MILTON. 


Frost  bound  river  !  o'er  thy  face, 
Clear  as  crystal,  while  I  glide, 

And  along  thy  smooth  ice  trace 
Mazy  windings  far  and  wide, 

Joy's  wild  impulse  swells  the  force 

That  propels  my  onward  course. 

Care  has  dogged  my  steps  all  day, 
Study  worn  my  spirits  down  ; 

But  from  care  I  flee  away, 

And  in  transport  study  drown  : 

Fleeter  than  the  rushing  wind 

I  have  left  their  trace  behind. 

Lone  I  rove,  yet  not  alone  ; 

Snow  clad  hill  and  silent  wood, 
Spire  and  dome,  now  hid,  now  shown, 

Creaking  ice,  and  roaring  flood, 
Skies  that  sparkle,  stars  that  burn  — 
These  are  mine,  where'er  I  turn. 

Burning  cheek,  and  flashing  eye, 
Quickened  breath,  and  pulses  wild  ; 

Rapture,  ending  in  a  sigh, 

Pain  with  pleasure  reconciled  — 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Blend,  with  strange  mysterious  power, 
In~the  transport  of  this  hour. 

But  such  rapture  will  not  last  : 

Milder  joys  are  flowing  in, 
Calmer  thoughts  returning  fast  ; 

While,  above  earth's  stir  and  din, 
Heaven  seems  shedding,  from  the  pole, 
Starry  influence  on  the  soul. 

Lights  are  round  me,  clear  reflected 
From  the  glittering  hosts  on  high ; 

At  my  feet  their  rays  collected 
In  this  mimic  nether  sky ; 

While  afar,  on  evening's  brow, 

Dian's  crest  hangs  sparkling  now. 

Fast  and  far  I  sweep  along ; 

Faster  far  can  fancy  stray, 
Borne  on  pinions  swift  as  strong  ; 

Till,  above  yon  milky  way, 
Wide  expanding  thought  would  soar, 
Man  and  nature  to  explore. 

Whence  this  strange  mysterious  being, 
Riddle  of  the  wondering  world? 

Eyes,  now  blind,  and  now  far-seeing, 
Thoughts  now  clear,  now  madly  hurled, 

In  confusion  vast  as  vain, 

Through  this  vortex  of  the  brain. 

Hopes  that  fire,  and  fears  that  chill, 
Grief  with  pleasure,  joy  with  pain, 


36  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Good  that  alternates  with  ill, 

Restless  thoughts  and  wishes  vain, 
Here  too  little,  there  too  much  ; 
Such  is  life,  its  impulse  such. 

Would  these  steel-shod  feet  could  rise, 
Swifter  far  than  here  they  move, 

Winning  way,  o'er  crystal  skies, 
To  the  source  of  truth  above  : 

Then  might  wandering  reason  know 

Whence  this  joy,  this  doubt,  this  wo. 

Vain  the  wish ;   as  vain  to  send 

Anxious  thought  o'er  land  and  sea  : 

Wiser  far  the  hour  to  spend 
In  rejoicing  revelry  ; 

Happier  sure,  if  youth  allow 

Joy's  bright  cup  to  sparkle  now. 

Why  o'ershadow  present  bliss, 
With  forebodings  sad  as  strange  ; 

Or  imbittcr  hours  like  this, 

With  dark  dreams  of  future  change  ? 

Ills  to  come  may  age  annoy, 

Youth  but  asks  for  present  joy  ; 

Joy  like  mine,  while,  sweeping  by, 
Rapture  swells  each  thrilling  nerve. 

Not  yon  bird  can  swifter  fly, 
Lighter  move,  or  truer  swerve, 

Or  in  gayer  transports  fling 

Mirth  in  music  from  his  wing. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  37 

Light,  and  warbling,  like  that  bird, 

Joy  inspires  my  every  thought ; 
Nerves  high  strung,  and  feelings  stirred. 

Health  from  northern  breezes  caught. 
These  are  mine,  where'er  I  stray, 
Swamscot !  o'er  thine  ice  bound  way. 


IMPROVE  MEN T 


For  nature,  crescent,  doth  not  grow  alone 
In  thews  and  bulk  ;  but  as  this  temple  waxes. 
The  inward  service  of  the  mind  and  soul 
Grows  wide  withal.  SHAKSPEARE. 


How  heedless  is  the  school  boy !  yet  how  fraught 
With  deep  instruction  !  heedless  in  the  joy 
That  comes  too  fast,  his  eager  hopes  to  cloy, 

Or  fears  excite  ;  yet  filled  with  earnest  thought 

And  just  reflection  ;  truths  by  nature  taught, 
That  new  as  strange,  with  ever  fresh  delight 
His  growing  powers  to  welcome  toil  invite. 

What  change  in  form  and  look,  unknown  before, 
In  tone  and  gesture,  manners,  in  the  glance 
Of  sparkling  eyes,  that  beam  intelligence  ! 

Much  hath  the  school  room  taught  him,  but  far  more 
His  youthful  playmates  ;  rich  in  free  exchange 
Of  teeming  fancies,  wild  at  will  to  range, 

Unchecked,  through  nature,  and  her  paths  explore. 
4 


38  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


STUDY. 


If  all  the  year  were  playing-  holidays, 
To  sport  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  work. 

SHAKSPKARE. 


Enough  of  boisterous  sports,  of  joys  that  spring 
To  hasty  birth,  in  pleasure's  noisy  ring  : 

Lo  !   Study  comes,  sedate,  of  thoughtful  brow 
And  tranquil  mien  :   with  her,  come  toils  that  please, 
And  tasks  that  quicken  ;   following  close  on  these, 

See,  Knowledge  comes,  responsive  to  the  vow 

Of  studious  youth,  whose  generous  thoughts  allow 
No  base  remission,  no  inglorious  ease. 

Turn  then  delighted  to  thy  books  again  : 
Play  sends  thee  bounding  back  to  study  now, 

Like  steed,  high  strung,  curvetting  on  the  rein. 
Blest  pliancy  of  youth  !  that  still  can  range 
From  sport  to  toil,  rejoicing  in  each  change, 

Sport  free  from  care,  and  study  void  of  pain. 


THE    LANGUAGES. 


No  nourishment  to  feed  his  growing  mind, 
But  conjugated  verbs,  and  nouns  declined. 

COWPER. 


Three  years  of  hard  ungenial  toil  are  past, 
Chiefly  the  elements  of  speech  to  gain, 

The  Greek  and  Latin  ;  they  are  won  at  last, 
Though  slowly,  and  with  effort  oft  in  vain  ; 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  39 

And  scant  the  scholarship  I  gathered  thence 

In  niceties  of  language,  that  belong 

To  masters  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  song. 
What  matters  it,  if  something  of  their  sense 

I  gained,   and  learned,  at  times,  somewhat  to  feel 

The  Mantuan  music,  and  poetic  zeal  ; 
The  pregnant  brevity  of  Sallust  won, 
Anacreon's  warmth,  the  ease  of  Xenophon  ; 

Nor  wanted  thoughts  and  feelings  that  dispense 

Some  glow  of  Ciceronian  eloquence. 


HISTORY. 


The  Past !  the  Past !  O  turn  thine  eye, 
Where  scenes  of  distant  years  unfold  ; 

And  forms,  long  lost,  come  floating'  by, 
Life-like,  on  History's  page  unrolled. 


If  forms  of  grammar,  and  the  classic  page, 
Too  coldly  follow,  thence  ill  understood, 
Gave  less  enjoyment,  than  of  right  they  should, 
Works  more  inviting  failed  not  to  engage 

My  youthful  ardour,  tasked,  but  unsubdued. 
Books  were  my  playmates  then  :   and  oft  could  win 
From  all  associates,  and  the  cheerful  din 

Of  sports,  else  grateful,  hours  that  others  use 
For  sleep,  amusement,  or  the  tasks  assigned 
Of  classic  study.     Pleasure  more  refined 

Than  ought  else  known,  the  grave  historic  muse 
Of  Greece,  of  Rome,  of  England  could  diffuse, 
In  rich  abundance  still,  of  use  combined 
With  high  enjoyment,  to  the  thoughtful  mind. 


40  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


POLITICS. 


But  ah  !  ye  Muses,  keep  your  votary's  feet 
From  tavern  haunts,  where  Politicians  meet. 

CKABBE. 


A  school  boy  Politician  !   can  there  be 

Sight  worthier  for  the  cynic  to  despise, 

Or  wise  men  pity  —  feelings,  such  as  rise, 
In  men,  from  selfish  interests  oft,  to  see 
Thus  early  ruling  o'er  the  young  and  free, 

The  fair  ingenuous  mind.     Well  could  I  prate. 
And  confident,  of  party  leaders  then, 

The  magnates  of  a  day,  whose  short  lived  date 
Now  scarce  survives,  in  memory  of  men. 

Strange  !  that,  so  soon,  such  follies  should  engagt 
Youth's  unbribed  thoughts,  in  fancied  cares  of  state. 

That  crib  the  soaring  mind  in  folly's  cage. 
Yet  small  the  difference;  party  zeal  and  hate 

Not  more,  in  youth,  are  odious,  than  in  age. 


D  I  N  A  IL 


Rut  drive  far  oft' the  barbarous  dissonance 
Of  Bacchus  and  his  revellers.  MILTON 


And  can  I  pass  thee,  Dinah  !  o'er, 
Thy  savoury  cake  and  ale  ! 

And  must  my  leisure  stray  no  more 
Adowri  this  quiet  vale  I 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  41 

What  pleasure  was  it,  once  a  week, 

(Not  oftener  did  we  dare  !) 
Thy  rural  lodge,  at  eve,  to  seek, 

And  taste  its  homely  fate. 

How  neat  the  table,  ready  spread, 

With  napkin  white  as  snow  ; 
The  wispering  pine  above  our  head, 

The  murmuring  stream  below. 

And  then  to  hear  old  Cuff  dilate 

On  dangers  met  afar, 
The  varied  turns  of  changeful  fate, 

When  master  went  to  war ! 

While  Dinah's  comely  visage  glows, 

A  pure  transparent  jet, 
With  coral  lips,  whose  bright  smile  shows 

A  mouth  with  ivory  set  ! 

Thy  sparkling  beaker,  Dinah  !  ne'er 

Does  broil  or  discord  breed  ; 
Yet  well  the  heart  of  youth  can  cheer, 

Of  youth  from  study  freed  ; 

When  bursting  from  restraints  away, 

The  stern  restraints  of  school, 
Amid  these  silent  groves  we  stray, 

By  stream  and  fountain  cool. 

The  rich  may  boast  of  prouder  fare  : 

But  what  does  pride  avail  ? 
As  well  might  age  with  youth  compare, 

As  wine  with  Dinah's  ale  ! 
4* 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Oh  !  I  may  warlder  far,  nor  find 

Such  simple  joys  again  ; 
To  haunts  of  pleasure  more  refined. 

Of  pleasure  mixed  with  paiu. 

The  gay  saloon,  the  gilded  hallr 
Where  folly  flirts  in  fashion's  ring, 

May  well  our  humbler  joys  recall, 
While  seated  by  yon  spring, 

Where  careless  thro\vn  the  lawn  along, 

In  thoughtless  reverie, 
We  list  the  night  bird's  soothing  song. 

Or  hum  of  homeward  bee. 

Unknown  alike  to  pomp  and  state, 

To  want,  regret,  and  fear, 
Nor  sullen  pride,  nor  rival  hate 

Disturbs  our  quiet  here. 

How  soft  the  shades  of  evening  close 

O'er  forest,  dale,  and  hill ; 
While  tranquil  thoughts,  in  calm  reposr. 
Like  dews  of  night  distil. 

O'er  lowly  cot,  and  woodland  scene. 

Descends  the  welcome  hour  ; 
Nor  less  our  hearts,  in  joy  serene, 

Partake  the  season's  power. 

Thy  plastic  power,  great  nature  !  then. 

Can  mould  the  thoughts  of  youth, 
At  evening  felt,  in  rural  glen, 

The  power  of  love  and  truth  ; 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Of  love  and  truth  o'er  gentle  hearts, 
While  health  its  bloom  bestows  ; 

Where  truth  its  charm  to  thought  imparts, 
And  life  with  love  o'erflows. 


LOVE. 


He  feels,  through  thrilling1  nerve  and  quickened  brain. 
Love's  piercing  dart,  —  from  Beauty's  laughing  eye 
At  random  shot,  unconscious  of  its  aim. 


Love,  in  the  young,  while  yet  the  heart  is  free, 
Is  nature's  bounteous  gift ;  the  rich  o'erflow 
Of  fond  affection,  ere  he  learns  to  know 

Or  choice,  or  difference  ;    and  in  all  can  see 

Bright  charms,  responsive  to  his  fantasy, 
Whereon  his  bland  endearments  to  bestow. 
The  bud,  in  spring  will  swell,  the  lily  blow, 

Though  none  be  near  to  mark  it  on  the  lea  ; 
The  lamb  will  frolic,  and  the  kitten  play, 
Instinctive  taught ;   and  blithe  the  linnet's  lay 

Flows,  unconstrained,  in  notes  of  native  glee. 
Not  less,  in  fervent  youth,  man's  heart  obeys 
The  genial  impulse,  which  all  nature  sways, 

When  love  first  wakes,  in  Beauty's  quickening  ray 


44  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


S  C  II  O  OL    BOY    PASSION 

Speak  to  my  gossip  Venus  one  fair  word, 
One  nickname  to  her  purblind  son  and  heir  : 
Speak  hut  one  rhyme,  and  1  am  satisfied. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

The  little  Love  God  to  this  breast, 
Like  serpent  in  the  sparrow's  nest, 
Hath  crept,  unwares,  to  break  my  rest. 
And  torture  me. 

I  wist  not  ought  of  subtle  guile, 
In  looks  so  soft,  in  that  arch  smile  ! 
But  ah  !  it  won  my  heart,  the  while, 
And  tortures  me. 

Oh  !   could  I  touch  that  cruel  heart : 
Would  she  but  yield  to  Cupid's  dart  : 
But  ah  !  she  glories  in  the  smart 
That  tortures  me. 

Bright  Venus  !  lend  thy  powerful  aid, 
Oh  !  come  in  all  thy  charms  arrayed, 
And  be  on  her  that  power  displayed 
That  tortures  me. 

Come  thou  too,  Cupid  !  sportive  boy, 
Come,  heavenly  source  of  earthly  joy  : 
And  thou,  fair  maid  !  no  more  be  coy, 
That  torturest  me. 

Alas  !  nor  maid,  nor  Cupid  near  ; 
No  Venus  lends  a  favouring  ear  ; 
My  love,  my  grief,  is  none  will  hear : 
This  tortures  me. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  45 


A  M  B  I  T  I  O  N. 


Come,  wilt  thou  see  me  ride  ? 
And  when  I  am  o:liorseback,  I  will  swear 
I  love  thee  inflnitclv  !  SHAKSPKARE. 


Away  with  Love  —  his  subtle  net 

Would  snare  my  heart  before  its  time  : 

But  no !  he  shall  not  bind  me  yet, 
For  I  have  many  a  height  sublime 
Of  steep  ascent,  with  toil  to  climb, 

Where  passion's  fire  and  love's  regret, 

Would  check  my  course  in  youthful  prime 

Hence  then  be  love's  illusion  cast, 

It  must  not,   and  it  shall  not  last. 

Hope  is  the  Captain  of  our  host, 
Whose  meanest  follower  of  the  war 

May  all  his  leader's  ardour  boast ; 
And  we  have  sworn  to  follow  far 
The  light  of  that  presiding  star, 

Till,  earth's  wide  realms  of  study  crost, 
Labour  shall  learning's  gates  unbar  ; 

And  knowledge  lead  the  steps  of  youth 

To  virtue  in  the  paths  of  truth. 

Not  now,  O  Love  !  should;st  thou  appear  ; 
Thy  light  artillery  bears  no  part, 

Where  patient  toil  and  thought  severe 
Must  win  the  heights  of  studious  art  : 
Turn  then  from  me  thy  erring  dart, 


46  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Since  I  must  bear,  through  many  a  year, 
The  studious  look,  and  loveless  heart  : 
Then  do  not  ask  that  I  should  wear 
Thy  favours  on  this  brow  of  care. 

This  is  no  time  to  grieve,  or  sigh, 
O'er  lover's  bliss,  in  lady's  bower  : 

My  eager  thoughts  are  soaring  high, 

Where  knowledge,  truth,  ambition,  power, 
Rich  blessings  on  their  votary  shower  : 

Then  farewell,  Love  !  I  needs  must  fly 
Thy  soft  enchantment,  at  this  hour  ; 

Yet  smile  not  thus,  in  proud  disdain, 

We  part,  Oh  Love  !  to  meet  again. 


FAREWELL    TO    EXETER. 

AUGUST  22,  1805. 


'Tis  vain  ;  we  cannot  tear  apart 
The  ties  that  twine  around  the  heart. 

But  blood  will  follow.     Future  years 
Lie  bright  in  prospect ;  but  regret 
Is  mingled  with  the  parting  vet, 

Alternate  sorrows,  hopes,  and  fears. 


Pensive,  yet  pleased,  I  breathe  a  fond  farewell, 

Exonia  !  to  thy  calm  untroubled  bowers  ; 

Where  knowledge  first,  on  my  unfolding  powers. 
Her  quickening  influence  shed,  and  taught  to  swell 
Those  buds  of  early  thought,  that  burst  their  cell. 

In  prime  of  youth,  mid  warmth  of  vernal  showers. 

Ye  fond  associates  of  my  studious  hours  ! 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  4? 

Though  now  we  part,  remembrance  still  shall  dwell 
On  each  fair  form,  to  youthful  love  endeared  : 

And  Thou,  whose  skillful  hand  could  rule  so  well 
Our  apt  and  froward  youth,  O  guide  revered  ! 

If  once  I  deemed  thee  stern,  yet  now  I  find 

Thy  .seeming  rigour  was,  in  truth,  most  kind  ; 
Severe  yet  friendly,  and  beloved  though  feared. 


THE    ABBOT    JUBILEE. 

AUGUST  23,  1838. 


The  summer  months  bring  wilding  shoot 
From  hud  to  bloom,  from  bloom  to  fruit; 
And  years  draw  on  our  human  span 
From  child  to  boy,  from  boy  to  man.         SCOTT. 


ABBOT  !  to  thee  thy  pupils  bring 
Their  tribute  due  of  grateful  praise, 

With  feelings  warm,  that  freshly  spring, 
At  memory  of  departed  days  : 
'Mid  those  far  scenes  when  fancy  strays, 

How  bright  each  early  vision  burns, 

While  years  roll  back,  and  youth  returns  ! 

How  oft  in  hours  of  toil,  or  strife, 

When  false  friends  fail,  and  fortune  lowers, 

The  scenes  return  of  early  life  ; 

Of  youthful  sports  and  careless  hours, 
Passed  gaily  'mid  these  classic  bowers ; 

Till  sighs  burst  forth,  that  life  no  more 

Those  joys  can  give,  it  gave  before. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Long  years  are  past ;  and  time  has  wrought 
On  each  changed  form,  till  memory  finds 

Slight  semblance  left  of  former  thought  ; 
And  weak,  perchance,  each  tie  that  binds 
Our  sundered  hearts  and  altered  minds. 

Oh  !  say  not  so,  —  since  true  hearts  yet 

The  loves  of  youth  can  ne'er  forget. 

And  we,  though  far  our  steps  have  strayed. 
To  Europe's  shores,  or  Asia's  strand, 

Our  homes  in  western  wilds  though  made, 
Or  in  the  glowing  southern  land, 
Yet  feel  new  life,  as  here  we  stand, 

Where  erst  we  stood,  while  days  of  yore 

Come  thronging  all  our  memories  o'er. 

To  us,  each  well  remembered  spot, 

The  plains,  the  groves,  are  still  the  same, 

No  object  changed,  no  sport  forgot  ; 
Kite,  marble,  football,  each  old  game, 
Wherein  to  win  was  then  held  fame, 

Here  flourish  still  ;   and  half  we  deem 

Ourselves  unchanged,  in  this  blest  dream. 

But  no,  'tis  past ;    the  fates  allow 

No  second  youth,  —  since  time  will  trace 

His  change  alike  on  furrowed  brow, 

And  mind  matured.     In  youth's  warm  race. 
Our  sons  have  ta'en  their  fathers'  place, 

And  we,  with  mixed  regret  and  pride, 

To  aid  their  course  must  step  aside. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  49 

Instructer  sage  !  beloved  as  feared, 
On  whom  our  youthful  cares  we  cast. 

To  grateful  bosoms  long  endeared, 
Say,  must  this  meeting  be  our  last? 
Is  thy  long  term  of  service  past  ? 

And  may  our  sons  no  longer  crave 

The  aids  to  us  thy  wisdom  gave  ? 

Farewell !  since  warmest  hopes  in  vain 
Would  hold  thee  longer  in  our  view  ; 

Affectionate,  with  tender  pain, 
Fondly  we  bid  thee  here  adieu  ; 
New  joys  may  come,  new  scenes  ensue, 

But  time  shall  hallow,  in  each  heart, 

The  scene,  the  hour,  wherein  we  part. 

Soft  be  the  pillow  of  thine  age, 

The  cradle  of  declining  years, 
Unknown  alike  to  turbid  rage, 

To  sordid  want,  or  bigot  fears  : 

While  hope's  bright  ray  thy  prospect  cheers, 
Gently  may  time,  in  reverence,  shed 
The  frosts  of  age  around  thy  head. 


SCEJVES    FROM  THE  PAST. 


CONTENTS. 

KNTKKI.NG  COLLEGE — The  Freshman — First  Visit  to  the  Theatrr — In 
dolence — Contemplation — Ambition — Devotion — The  Sophomore — On 
Horseback — The  Unknown  Beauty — The  Sleigh  Ride — The  Dance — 
Dissipation — Vice — Excitement — The  Junior — Devclopement  of  Ta-te. 
as  displayed  in  admiration  of  the  Beautiful  and  the  Sublime — Influence 
of  Mind  on  Matter — The  Beautiful — The  Beauty  of  Holiness — The 
Truth  of  Nature — Music — Sculpture — Painting — Morning  Walk — Even 
ing  Walk — Walk  in  Winter — The  Ocean — The  White  Hill Tiir 

Mountain  Streams. 


U  ffi  ffl 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST 


BOOK    SECOND. 


ENTERING    COLLEGE. 

Where,  graced  with  many  a  classic  spoil, 

Cam  rolls  his  reverend  stream  along', 
I  haste  to  urge  the  learned  toil. 

That  sternly  chides  my  love-lorn  song.        COLERIDGK. 

HOPE  is  the  guide  of  youth  ;  yet  sudden  fear 
Seized  on  me,  Harvard !   as  at  first  thy  walls 
I  entered  ;  slow  along  thy  solemn  halls 

Pacing,  in  silent  dread,  to  where  appear 

Thy  grave  instructers,  marshalled  forth  to  hear 
Me,  inexpert,  from  morn  to  eve,  expound 
The  mysteries  of  syntax  ;  depths  profound 

Of  prosody  explore  ;    the  mazes  clear 
Of  conjugations  ;    and  declensions  run 

Through  all  varieties  of  changeful  speech. 
If  well,  enquire  not,  since  the  task  is  done  : 
Not  ill,  belike,  for  lo  !  the  goal  is  won  : 

Nor  further  now  my  fondest  wishes  reach, 
Matriculated,  Harvard  !   as  thy  son. 

5* 


54  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

T  II  E    F  II  E  S  II  M  A  N. 

Resistless  l>unis  the  fever  of  renown. 
Caught  from  the  strong  contagion  of  the  gown. 
JOHNSON. 

How  shall  I  paint  the  Freshman  ?     Proud  in  thought. 
As  deeming  that  his  toils  have  won,  at  length, 
The  virile  robe  ;    rejoicing  in  the  strength 

Of  nascent  virtue  ;  modest  too;  yet  fraught 

With  high  resolves,  of  honor  to  be  sought 
By  studious  arts,  and  scholarship  attained. 

Henceforth,  his  mind  no  needful  task  will  shun, 

Howe'er  laborious  :   rising  with  the  sun, 
To  toil  till  midnight,  all  his  powers  are  strained 

To  utmost  effort.     No  base  thought  of  ease, 

Or  sloth  inglorious,  can  his  fancy  please, 
Nor  vice  allure.  Already,  in  his  eye, 
The  course  is  traversed  ;  and  he  springs  on  high. 

Eacrer  the  academic  wreath  to  seize. 


FIRST    VISIT    TO   THE    T  II  E  A  T  R 


Honey  with  poison,  in  one  llower, 
Is  mingled  oft,  in  narrow  bound  : 

The  bee,  that  shuns  the  poison's  power. 
Hath  yet  the  treasured  honey  fount!  : 

So.  haply,  may  thy  care  attain 

The  Drama's  sweets,  nor  taste  its  pain. 

The  play  was  Alexander,  in  the  pride 
Of  Cooper's  early  acting  ;   and  he  trod 
The  swelling  scene,  in  word  and  deed,  a  God, 

Young  Ammon,  mortal,  but  yet  deified. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Alas  !  that  art  so  seldom  can  deceive 
The  practiced  eye  ;  that  credence  is  denied, 

Where  fond  credulity  would  fain  receive 

The  kind  deception,  eager  to  believe  ! 
To  me  there  was  no  acting  there,  no  stage 

Of  paltry  wood  and  canvass,  in  my  view  ; 
But  Babylon's  proud  towers,  Roxana's  rage, 

Hephestion,  Clytus,  all  the  poet  drew, 
Prince,  courtier,  lover,  manhood,  youth  and  age. 

No  quaint  disguise,  but  real  all  and  true. 


II. 


What  seek  ye  here  ?     Joy's  evencscent  bloom 

SMITH. 


Such  faith  has  pliant  youth  :  I  since  have  seen 
Pierre,  Jaffier,  Belvidera's  tender  part, 
The  love  of  Juliet,  Shylock's  vengeful  heart, 

Pizarro,  Zanga,  Richard's  sneering  mein, 
Hal,  Falstaff,  Quickly,  Hotspur's  fiery  spleen, 

Jaques,  Hamlet,  Macbeth,  swart  Othello's  hue, 

And  Lear  amid  the  storm  :  paid  honor  due 

To  Cook,  to  Keen,  to  Matthews'  matchless  art 

Of  mimic  nature  ;  actors  not  a  few, 

Nor  worthless  seen  ;   have  felt  the  warm  tear  start, 

In  tragic  passion  ;  joined  in  laughter  too, 
Not  less  sincere  :  yet  none  could  e'er  impart 

Feelings  that  equalled,  in  intense  delight, 

The  wonders  of  that  first  undoubting  night. 


50  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

INDOLENCE. 
I. 


Here  naught  but  candour  rcigiis,  indulgent  case, 
(jood  nalurcd  lounging,  sauntering  up  and  down. 
THOMPSON. 


How  soon,  alas  !   impediments  arise 

In  virtue's  paths  :  the  stripling  that  could  dare 

Each  adverse  height,  how  sinks  he  in  despair, 
At  toils  unseen,  at  labours  that  surprise, 
In  mid  career,  his  inexperienced  eyes. 

The  stated  tasks  grow  irksome  ;  daily  care, 

And  nightly  study  health  and  hope  impair, 
Till  courage  droops,  and  young  ambition  dies. 

Yet  sink  not  so,  fond  youth  !  e'en  now  the  chain 
Of  sloth  is  round  thee  :  siren  Pleasure  wins 
Thy  heart,  yet  virtuous,  but  to  venal  sins, 

Mere  freaks  of  youthful  folly  ;  but  her  reign, 
Though  oft  in  harmless  sport  the  course  begins, 

Brings  Vice  full  soon,  with  misery  in  her  train. 


II. 


Nay,  dally  not  with  time,  the  wise  man's  treasure. 
Though  fools  are  lavish  on't :  the  fatal  Fisher 
Hooks  souls,  while  we  waste  moments.  SCOTT. 


"  Oh  !  call  not  Pleasure  Vice ;  nor  seek  to  balk 
The  flow  of  youthful  feelings  unabused  : 
The  song,  the  dance,  the  bowl,  infrequent  used, 

At  friendly  meetings,  mid  enlivening  talk, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


Thou  need'st  not  sure  condemn  ;  nor  evening  walk, 
Nor  healthful  morning  ride,  can  be  refused." 

But  is  thy  Homer  studied,  Horace  scanned, 
And  Euclid  demonstrated  ?  Livy's  page, 
Plato   Demosthenes.  —  do  these  eno-ao-e 

*  to        G 

Thy  earnest  thought  ?     Or  hast  thou  nothing  planned 
But  pleasure's  idle  pageant  ?     Is  the  strife 
For  fame  forgotten  ;   and  thy  worthless  life 
To  end  inglorious  ?     Oh  !  in  time  withstand 
The  baneful  fiend,  ere  yet  by  sloth  unmanned. 


CONTEMPLATION. 


An  equal  mixture  of  good  humour. 

And  sensible  soft  melancholy.  POPK. 

The  world,  perchance,  my  idleness  might  deem 
A  vice.     It  was  not  such,  dear  Bliss  !   with  thee, 
While  unconstrained,  in  social  pleasure  free, 

Our  prime  of  joy  was  plunging  in  the  stream, 
At  morn,  or  eve  ;  or  wandering  o'er  the  lea, 

Arm  linked  in  arm.     'Twas  thus  each  loved  retreat 

We  won  delighted,  with  unwearied  feet, 
Each  vale  exploring,  and  each  secret  nook  ; 

Fished  on  Fresh  Pond,  our  light  sail  gaily  spread  ; 

Or  roamed  Mount  Auburn,  city  of  the  dead, 
Then  wild,  untenanted.     While  nature's  book, 

Spread  wide  before  us,  all  its  secrets  told, 

How  idly  busy  life's  bright  currents  rolled, 

In  streams  of  thought,  that  murmured  like  a  brook. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


II. 


And  we  were  canopied  hy  the  blue  sky, 
So  cloudless,  clear,  and  purely  beautiful, 
That  God  alone  was  to  be  seen  in  heaven. 
BYRO.V. 


Deem  not  such  hours  mispent,  though  not  confined 
To  formal  study  :  Farrar's  brow  may  frown, 
And  thoughtful  Nichols  note  our  absence  down  : 

Yet  haply,  at  such  hour,  the  busy  mind 
Is  working  for  itself  the  problem  out 
Of  some  deep  truth,  or  solving  subtle  doubt. 

In  these  broad  diagrams,  by  nature  lined 

On  hill  and  plain,  the  studious  thought  may  find 
Solution  that  puts  servile  fear  to  rout. 

On  yonder  bank,  while  basking  in  the  sun, 
How  deeply  hath  the  varied  prospect  wrought 
On  our  wrapt  souls  !  how  purified  each  thought, 

From  low  desire,  from  selfish  feelings  won, 
To  virtue's  lore,  by  liberal  nature  taught. 


AMBITION. 


His  frame  of  mind  was  serious  and  severe, 

Beyond  his  years  :  his  dreams  were  of  great  objects, 

WALLKNSTK1N, 


Yet  loved  I  better,  Bird  !  at  times,  with  thee, 
To  watch,  with  kindling  eye,  the  world  of  men. 
And  frame  high  schemes  of  action  ;   idle  then, 

And  haply  ill  advised  ;  yet  generous,  free, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  59 

in  pride  of  youth,  that  scorned  servility, 

And  mocked  at  baseness.     Oft,  entranced,  we  dwelt 
On  glowing  annals  of  the  olderi  time, 

The  Greek,  or  Roman,  till  our  bosoms  felt 
Congenial  ardour  ;   oft  in  thought  sublime, 

Statesmen  ourselves,  or  warriors  !  dealt  the  blow, 

In  fancied  combat  with  our  country's  foe, 
When  tyrants  menaced  :  nor  less  eager  bent, 

In  halls  of  state,  on  public  cares  intent, 
To  rise  supreme,  and  rule  the  crowd  below  ! 

DEVOTION. 
I. 

He  knew  not 

The  doctrine  of  ill  doing  :  no,  nor  dreamed 
That  any  did.  SHAKSPEARE. 

How  different,  yet  not  adverse,  was  the  strain 

Of  tranquil  hope,  what  time,  day's  labours  o'er, 
I  wandered  oft,  well  pleased,  along  the  plain, 

Stevens  !  with  thee  ;  indulging  thoughts  that  soar, 
Humble,  yet  high,  above  ambition's  aim. 

The  setting  sun,  and  fading  twilight  wrought, 

Oft  in  our  minds,  oblivion  of  low  thought, 
And  selfish  cares;  till,  kindling  as  it  came, 
Our  hearts  grew  holy  in  devotion's  flame. 

Not  cowled,  nor  cloistered,  nor  with  venom  fraught 
Of  fierce  contentious  zeal,  or  bigot  pride, 

Came  mild  Religion  there  ;  but  robed  in  might 

Of  meek  humility,  and  reason's  light, 
Our  sorrow's  comforter,  and  virtue's  guide. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


II. 


A  sacred  stream. 

In  whose  calm  depth  the  beautiful  and  pure 
Alone  are  mirrored.  TALFOURU. 


No,  not  in  tempests  wrapt  of  midnight  gloom, 

He  came,  the  Father,  to  our  opening  minds  : 
In  beauty  rather  of  the  vernal  bloom, 

Fair  flowers,  and  waving  woods,  &-  whispering  wind; 
Each  form  of  milder  nature,  whose  control 

The  yielding  breast  in  willing  bondage  binds. 
A  calm  abstraction  of  the  softened  soul 

Steals  o'er  each  sense,  that,  mild  as  dewy  eve 
In  leafy  June,  seems  melting  into  tears  ; 

Tears,  less  of  sorrow  shed,  than  tranquil  joy, 

That  finds  not  more  in  speech  its  glad  employ, 
Than  mute  admiring  praise  ;  while  earth's  dark  fear*. 

Its  cares,  its  doubts,  the  burthened  bosom  leave, 
For  hope's  full  flow  of  bliss  without  alloy. 


THE    SOPHOMORE. 


Breathe  his  faults  so  quaintly, 
That  they  may  seem  the  taints  of  liberty  ; 
The  flash  and  outbreak  of  a  fiery  mind. 

SHAKSPEARE. 


The  union  rare  of  modesty  combined 

With  seemly  confidence,  that  marked  the  tone 
Of  entering  Freshman,  is  no  longer  known, 

His  rash  impatience  only  left  behind. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  61 

Too  wise  to  learn,  too  knowing  to  believe, 
And  all  too  fond  of  freedom,  to  receive 

Command  or  counsel,  lo  !  the  Sophomore  ! 
Ripe  for  revolt,  to  rapture  quick  inflamed, 
With  feelings  high,  and  spirits  all  untamed, 

lie  feels,  through  every  vein,  the  passions  pour 

Their  headlong  currents ;  high  his  wishes  soar, 
And  oft  as  low  descend  :  nor  man,  nor  boy, 
He  knows  not  yet,  to  suffer,  or  enjoy, 

Calmly,  —  but  each  extreme  would  fain  explore. 


ON    HORSEBACK. 


The  noble  horse 

That,  in  his  fiery  youth,  from  his  wide  nostril  •>. 
Neighs  courage  to  his  rider.        MASSINGER. 


Lightly  bounds  my  gallant  steed. 
Starting  from  the  goal  away  ; 

And  my  thoughts,  from  study  freed, 
They  too  move  as  light  and  gay, 

Cheerful  sounds  around  me  ringing, 

Bright  streams  rippling,  gay  birds  singing 

Soon  the  plain  is  hurried  o'er  ; 

Toil  and  care  fall  fast  behind, 
Sorrow's  sigh,  and  discord's  roar, 

Dying  on  the  distant  wind, 
While  with  swift  yet  gentle  motion, 
Bounds  my  steed,  like  waves  of  ocean. 
6 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

White  as  ocean's  foam  his  mane  : 

And  his  smooth  flanks  dappled  bright 

With  the  leopard's  varied  stain, 
Glisten  on  the  dazzled  sight, 

As,  his  master's  pleasure  sharing, 

Proud  he  prances,  danger  daring. 

Buoyant  spirits,  feelings  strong, 

Lively  hopes,  and  visions  gay  ; 
Thoughts  that  flash,  like  fire,  along, 

Fancies,  bright  as  beams  of  day, 
Health's  high  pulse,  youth's  boundless  treasure 
Swells  my  heart's  extatic  measure. 

Floating  on  the  clear  blue  sky, 

By  the  breezes  wildly  blown, 
Yonder  cloud  sails  swiftly  by, 

With  a  rapture  like  mine  own  ; 
Lone,  yet  happy,  heavenward  tending, 
Earth's  dark  shades  with  bright  beams  blending. 

Labour's  sons  their  toil  may  ply, 

Delving  deep  in  worthless  lore  : 
Delve  they  deeper  !  what  care  I 

Such  dark  treasures  to  explore, 
While  yon  sun,  high  o'er  me  shining, 
Sends  down  wealth  worth  all  their  mining  — 

Stores  of  wealth  in  generous  thought, 

Treasures  rich  of  feeling  pure, 
Truths,  by  liberal  nature  taught, 

Hopes,  that  long  as  life  endure : 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Earth-born  hopes,  yet  proudly  swelling 
High  as  heaven,  their  native  dwelling. 

What  though  wide  renown,  and  power, 
Wait  not  on  my  humble  course, 

:Tis  enough,  should  fortune  lower, 
If  my  mind,  in  native  force, 

Soar  aloft,  with  fearless  pinion, 

Sovereign  in  her  own  dominion  ! 

Slave  to  no  base  lure,  or  lust, 

Be  it  still  my  steady  aim, 
Truth  to  win,  in  truth  to  trust ; 

And  to  virtue's  generous  claim 
Yield  me  freely,  —  careless  ever 
Of  vain  fortune's  frown  or  favour. 


THE    UNKNOWN    BEAUTY. 


Tlic  misjlit.  the  majesty  of  loveliness.         BYRON. 

How  warm  and  generous  the  devotion  laid 

By  youth  at  beauty's  shrine  !     As  unemployed, 
One  summer  morn,  my  steps  afar  had  strayed, 
A  steed  came  slowly  by,  —  whereon  a  maid 

Sat,  wrapt  in  wonder,  as  her  heart  enjoyed 
The  lovely  scene,  —  unconscious  that  man's  eye, 
E'en  then,  was  kindling  into  sympathy 

With  that  bright  face,  in  pleasure  unalloyed. 


64  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Ere  long,  surprised,  yet  haply  not  annoyed, 
Her  glance  met  mine  :  the  blush,  that  came  to  die 
Her  glowing  cheeks'  carnation,  made  reply 
To  love's  warm  feelings,  in  my  looks  betrayed, 
As  lowly  bowing,  I  prompt  homage  paid 
To  youthful  beauty,  hastening  quickly  by. 


II. 


Who  ever  loved.  tl»t  loved  not  at  first  sight  ? 
SHAKSPEAUK. 


She  passed  me  blushing  :  I  have  sought  in  vain. 
In  thronged  assemblies  since,  and  in  the  shade, 

O  * 

Where  first  we  met,  to  meet  again  that  maid  ; 
But  though  oft  sought,  and  never  found  again, 
The  warm  emotions  of  that  hour  remain, 

In  memory  still  of  youthful  love  arrayed. 
Though  all  unlikely,  yet  our  flame,  methought, 

Was  mutual  there ;  the  fond  conceit  long  stayed. 
Deep  on  my  heart  impressed,  that  she  too  sought 

Her  absent  lover.     Oft  that  dream  employed 
My  wayward  thought,  till  fancy  could  adore 
This  unknown  beauty,  and  desire  no  more. 

Vain  dream  of  youthful  folly  !  long  enjoyed, 

Till  love,  true  love,  the  fancied  bliss  destroyed. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


THE    SLEIGH    RIDE. 


Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within. 
.Sit  like  his  grandsire,  cut  in  alabaster ! 

SHAKSPEARE. 


Oh  !  who  would  slumber,  this  most  glorious  night, 
In  ill  timed  rest ;  or,  cowering  by  the  ray 
Of  sordid  lamp-light,  wear  his  hours  away, 

In  thankless  study  here  ?     The  moon  is  bright  ; 
Our  steeds  are  harnessed  to  the  flying  sleigh, 

And  forth  we  speed,  our  bosoms  bounding  light, 
With  merry  shout,  that  chides  our  brief  delay. 

What  sport  is  ours,  o'erturned,  and  in  the  snow 
Rolling  together  !  soon  to  rise  again, 
Then  whirl  exulting  o'er  the  snow  clad  plain  ; 

Careless  of  danger,  so  our  good  steeds  go 

Swift  to  their  destined  goal,  —  while  beauty's  cheek 
Is  mantling  fresh,  with  pleasure's  ruddy  streak, 

Heightened,  by  winter's  kiss,  to  loveliest  glow. 


THE    DANCE. 


His  brow  belied  him  if  his  soul  was  sad.         BTROX. 

And  safe  arrived,  what  joy  awaits  us  now, 
As  answering  to  the  viol's  lively  sound, 
Featly,  and  gaily,  in  the  dance  we  bound, 

Hand  linked  in  hand.     Flushed  cheek  and  glowing  brow 
6* 


66  SCENES    FROM    THE    I'AST. 

Tell  soon  what  transports  such  brief  hours  allo\v 
To  youthful  hearts  ;  nor  pause  nor  rest  is  found. 

While  swift,  —  to  care  unknown,  —  the  moments  fly. 
Chased  by  the  laughing  graces.     Here,  love's  vow. 

Low  whispered,  fires  the  cheek  ;  and  there  the  eye 
Speaks  plain  what  one,  at  least,  can  well  discern. 

Me,  careless  of  such  thoughts,  the  hours  endow 
With  joy's  gay  heritage  of  mirth  and  fun  : 
Would  it  were  lasting  !   but  too  soon  the  sun 

Shines  in,  unwelcome,  on  our  swift  return. 

DISSIPATION. 

Just  now  we're  living  sound  and  halt 

Then  top  and  mainmast  crowd  the  sail. 

Heave  Care  o'ei  side  ! 
And  large  l>cfore  Enjoyment's  gale 

Let's  tak'  the  tide"!  BURNS, 

Away,  thou  greybeard  Wisdom  !  go  — 

Art  not  ashamed  to  show  thy  face, 
Where  jocund  Pleasure  mocks  at  wo, 

And  youth  with  folly  joins  the  chase  . 

This  is  for  thee  no  fitting  place  : 
We  move  not  here  by  square  and  rule, 
But  live  to  laugh,  and  play  the  fool  ! 

Ay,  play  the  fool,  in  fitting  time, 

Despite  what  sapless  dotards  say  : 
Our  pulse  beats  high,  in  merry  chime, 

Our  blood  runs  quick,  our  thoughts  are  gav. 

Our  study  now  is  sport  and  play  : 
Then  go,  good  grandsire  !  haste  along, 
We  else  may  do  thy  grave  looks  wrong. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

We  would  not  that  our  mad  pranks  here, 
Should  grieve  thee,  Wisdom  !  or  offend  ; 

We  fain  would  shun  thy  frown  austere  ; 
Then  go  in  peace,  right  reverend  friend  ! 
And  should  we  need,  we  yet  may  send  ; 

For  well  we  know,  if  aid  we  lack, 

Experience  soon  brings  Wisdom  back. 

Well  —  slow,  but  sure  —  he's  out  of  sight  — 
Good  riddance  to  his  surly  lower  ! 

He'll  not  return  again,  to  night, 

To  cloud  with  gloom  our  festive  hour  : 
Meantime,  light  hands  shall  deck  our  bower, 

And  gay  Hope  weave  a  garland  fair, 

To  wreath  the  brow    of  wrinkled  care. 

Come,  broad  faced  Humour,  lively,  free, 
Loud  Laughter,  fee  to  grief  and  pain, 

Wild  Frolic,  come,  and  Revelry, 
The  jovial  throng  of  Comus'  train, 
Bright  Wit,  gay  Sport,  rich  Fancy's  vein,  — 

Ye  all  are  welcome,  e'en  the  least, 

When  Pleasure  spreads  for  Youth  her  feast. 

But  banish  hence  those  foes  of  life, 
Envy  and  Malice,  and  the  brood 

Of  sullen  furies,  Wrath  and  Strife, 
Contention  dire,  and  Anger  rude  : 
These  shall  not  on  our  feast  intrude  ; 

Nor  thought  of  study,  toil,  or  pain 

The  heyday  of  our  mirth  profane. 


68  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Good  Cheer  shall  at  our  board  preside, 
And  well  fed  Bounty  with  us  sup  ; 

Nor  Temperance  quite  forsake  our  side, 
While  gay  we  sip  the  red  wine  up, 
Least  Youth  find  poison  in  the  cup, 

If  pushed  too  far,  till  Fancy  feel 

Her  bright  powers  flag,  and  reason  reel. 

Should  Wisdom,  with  a  Tutor's  face, 
Unwonted  sight  !   again  appear, 

We'll  e'en  consent  to  give  him  place  : 
With  hearty  shout,  and  right  good  cheer, 
Sir  Gravity  !  you're  welcome  here  ; 

And,  sooth  to  say,  since  we're  together, 

We'll  crown  your  cap  with  Folly's  feather  ! 


VICE. 


Amid  the  roses  fierce  Repentance  rears 
Her  snaky  crest.  THOMPSON. 


There  is  a  wild  and  heartless  mirth, 
Which  guilt  on  folly  can  bestow  ; 

It  doth  not  spring  from  heaven  or  earth, 
But  hath  its  source  in  realms  below  : 
The  root  whereon  its  branches  grow, 

Is  Vice  :  all  joy  that  thence  takes  birth, 
Is  madness,  ending  soon  in  wo. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  09 

The  forced  contempt  that  curls  the  lip, 

The  sneer  of  hate,  the  laugh  of  scorn, 
( 'ould  we  these  false  disguises  strip, 

Would  show  a  heart  by  misery  torn  : 

The  galling  yoke  of  grief  is  borne, 
Heaviest,  by  those  who  madly  sip 

False  pleasure's  cup,  with  hearts  forlorn. 

And  I  have  seen  light  pleasure  fling 

Her  net  o'er  many  a  generous  mind, 
Entranced  within  her  magic  ring  ; 

While  youth  on  pleasure's  couch  reclined, 

In  converse  gay  with  wit  refined, 
Unconscious  that  guilt's  deadly  sting, 

E'en  there,  his  inmost  soul  might  find. 

The  weal  or  wo,  wherein  we  dwell, 

The  mind  doth  for  itself  create  ; 
And  forms  within  the  heaven  or  hell, 

That  makes,  or  mars,  our  changeful  state : 

Virtue  alone  can  ope  the  gate 
<  )f  lasting  joy,  can  grief  repel, 

Or  meet,  unmoved,  the  storms  of  fate. 

E  X  C  I  T  E  M  E  N  T. 

Most  subject  is  the  fattest  soil  to  weeds.       SHAKSPKAKK. 

If  thou,  in  body  to  the  earth  allied, 

Would'st  in  base  joys  thy  sordid  pleasures  find, 
Uo,  wallow  in  the  sty  ;   and  quench  the  pride 

Of  lofty  thought,  thy  high  aspiring  mind, 


/(I  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

In  low  and  sensual  pleasures,  such  as  bind 
Yon  heedless  revellers,  in  folly's  den. 
Excitement  dost  thou  need  1    Go,  seek  it  then 

In  strenuous  thought,  intent  all  truth  to  know 
In  action  seek  it,  mid  thy  fellow  men  ; 

In  virtuous  feeling  find  it ;  raise  the  low, 

Direct  the  erring,  dry  the  tears  that  flow, 
And  bid  thy  light,  the  light  of  virtue,  shine  : 
So  shalt  thou  need  nor  feast,  nor  sparkling  wine. 

Thy  thought  to  feed,  or  bid  thy  fancy  glow. 


THE    J  U  N  I  O  R. 


And  time,  who  changes  all,  had  altered  him. 
In  soul  ami  aspect,  as  in  age.  BYKD.N. 


The  Junior  Sophister  has  learned,  at  length, 
That  license  is  not  freedom  ;  that  control, 
Howe'er  ungrateful  to  the  youthful  soul, 

Gives  aim  to  effort,  and  to  action  strength  : 

*  G 

For  painful  doubt,  he  seeks  the  known  relief 
Of  settled  truth,  in  well  assured  belief: 

Reverence  hath  won  submission  in  his  mind 
To  rightful  power.     The  College  honors  now 
Though  late  despised,  he  fears  not  to  avow 

Meet  objects  of  desire;  nor  fails  to  find 
The  Clubs'  mysterious  brotherhood  assert 
Its  kindling  power  o'er  feelings  else  inert,  — 

Ambition  rousing,  with  high  hopes  combined, 
That  long  o'er  life  their  potent  sway  exert. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  ?J 


INFLUENCE   OF  MIND  ON   MATTER. 


Mind  is  the  ruling  power,  that  moulds  at  will 
The  world  of  matter,  —  finding'  in  its  forms 
But  outward  images  of  inbred  thought. 


External  nature  borrows  half  its  grace 

From  mind,  which,  kindled  by  its  native  fires, 
Projects  abroad  the  beauty  it  admires. 

To  sorrow's  leaden  eye,  creation's  face 

Is  clothed  in  gloom,  and  discontent  retires 

O  ' 

Sullen  from  loveliest  scenes  ;  while  tempests  bring 
But  nobler  music,  on  their  sounding  wing, 

To  hearts  attuned  to  harmony  within. 
Hence  earth  is  what  man  makes  it ;  to  the  low, 
The  weak,  the  sordid,  one  wide  den  of  wo, 

Of  base  compulsion,  and  ignoble  sin  ; 
But  lovely  to  the  good,  and  to  the  wise, 
Whose  souls  its  seeming  din  can  harmonize, 

Clothed  in  the  beauty  happy  thoughts  bestow. 


THE    BEAUTIFUL. 
I. 

Our  feelings  sanctify  e'en  senseless  things  ; 
And  the  wide  world,  in  cheerful  loveliness, 
Returns  to  us  its  joy.  WILSON. 

To  such,  all  earth  is  lovely  ;  and  this  frame 
Of  things  created,  —  whether  great  or  small, 
From  insect  atoms  to  earth's  pendent  ball,  — 

Each  hath  its  charm  and  glory,  each  its  claim, 


("i,  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Its  scope,  its  purpose,  its  peculiar  aim, 

Its  form  of  beauty,  seen  alike  in  all  — 
Wrought  by  that  hand  divine,  which  can  educe 
From  forms  unnumbered  never  ending  use  : 

Nor  use  alone  His  purposes  proclaim, 
But  pleasure  and  endearments,  that  infuse 

The  sense  of  beauty,  and  the  heart  inflame 
With  love  of  nature,  grace  with  grandeur  joined  : 

Hence  Taste,  and  Plastic  Art,  the  tuneful  Muse. 
And  each  fine  issue  of  the  polished  mind. 


II. 


Nor  was  this  fellowship  vouchsafed  to  mo 
With  stinted  kindness  ;  —  purifying  thus 
The  elements  of  feeling  and  of  thought. 

WORDSWORTH. 


Where'er  we  turn,  the  Beautiful  is  still 

Within  and  round  us;  seen  in  hill  and  dale, 
In  waving  wood,  deep  glen,  and  cottaged  vale, 

In  quiet  lake,  broad  stream,  and  sparkling  rill ; 

In  dew-gemmed  meadows,  vocal  with  the  trill 
Of  wild  wood  warblers,  pouring  on  the  gale 

Their  joyous  throats  ;  felt  livelier  in  the  flow 

Of  pure  affections,  cherished  in  the  glow 
Of  manly  thoughts,  and  feelings  that  incline 

To  vituous  deeds ;  nor  seen  more  lovely,  clear, 

In  beauty's  smile,  than  pity's  generous  tear. 

These  mould  the  ductile  thoughts,  thegraceful  shrine 

Of  Taste  adorn,  and  beauty's  arbour  rear, 
Sky-lighted,  mantled  with  the  clustering  vine. 


.SCENES    FIIO.M    THE    PAST.  73 


III. 


A  truth,  which  through  our  being  then  doth  melt, 
And  purifies  from  self.  BYRON. 

Who  loves  not  beauty  ?  beauty  in  the  grass, 

The  grain,  the  grove,  in  gently  winding  streams, 
The  moon's  mild  ray,  and  morning's  rosy  beams. 

Brighter  in  living  forms,  the  moving  mass 
Of  insect  life,  bird,  beast,  with  beauty  teems  : 

Nor  rests  it  here ;  the  human  face  divine 

Blends  grace  of  form  with  beauties  of  the  mind, 
Deep  thought  with  generous  feeling,  reason  joined 

With  warm  emotion  :  hence  all  charms  combine 
Highest  in  virtuous  action  ;  hence  the  grace 
Loveliest  of  earthly  forms,  gives  willing  place 

To  moral  beauty,  where  pure  virtues  shine  ; 
And  hence,  in  happy  bosoms,  beauty's  fruit 
Is  hope,  joy,  love,  devotion,  from  one  root. 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    HOLINESS 


The  high-born  soul, 

Disdains  to  rest  her  heaven-aspiring  wing 
Beneath  its  native  quarry.  AKENSIDE. 


Love  is  Devotion  with  a  milder  name  ; 
And  Piety  but  turns  that  love  from  earth 
To  highter  hopes,  and  joys  of  nobler  birth. 

Lovely,  not  less  than  sacred,  is  the  flame 

7 


74  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Of  pure  devotion  :  earth,  like  heaven,  may  claim 
Its  portion  of  true  bliss,  when  pure  hearts  know 
Love's  fervid  truth,  in  virtue's  generous  glow. 

The  good  and  fair  from  kindred  fountains  rise, 
Commingling  gently,  as  they  onward  flow, 

In  dews  of  love,  exhaling  to  the  skies. 

Heaven  is  but  earth  sublimed  ;   and  man  may  trace 

Emblems  of  holiness,  and  power  divine, 
In  earth-born  loveliness  of  form  and  face, 

Where  youth  in  meekness  kneels  at  virtue's  shrine. 


THE    TRUTH    OF    NATURE. 


Truth  is  immortal :  time  and  change  but  prey 
On  shows  and  shadows,  insubstantial  things, 
Which,  life-like  oft,  and  specious  to  the  eye, 
Arc  false  and  hollow  yet  within. 


True  thought,  and  genuine  feeling  never  die  : 
Inborn  and  glowing,  from  the  teeming  heart 
And  mind  impregnate,  into  life  they  start, 

In  forms  of  beauty  that  can  time  defy. 

Whate'er  the  task  true  genius  may  essay,  — 
Sculpture,  or  music,  or  the  poet's  lay, 

By  pen,  by  pencil,  or  if  voiced  on  high 
By  tongue  of  orator  inspired,  whose  sway, 
The  listening  crowd,  with  willing  hearts,  obey,  — 

Whate'er  the  form,  if  strength  of  thought  be  there, 
And  genial  warmth,  to  nature's  impulse  true, 

Feelings  are  roused,  which  time's  rude  hand  must  spare, 
A  truth  revealed,  no  age  can  e'er  subdue, 

With  earth  coeval,  and  her  date  to  share. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


MUSIC. 


Soft  music  makes  me  sad  ;  as  if  its  tones 
Were  turned  to  discord,  by  the  jar  and  din 
Of  evil  passions  —  earth's  loud  dissonance 
Of  sordid  purposes  and  selfish  aims. 


Art  is  but  nature's  finer  sense  exprest, 
In  forms  idealized.     The  graver's  style, 
The  brush,  string,  chisel,  voice,  each  acts,  the  while, 

Its  fitting  part ;  to  eye  or  ear  addrest, 

In  shape,  or  hue,  in  tune,  or  spoken  sounds. 

Music  of  these  may  earliest  lineage  claim, 

Child  of  the  grove  !   what  time  the  gay  birds*  came, 
Warbling,  self-taught,  while  earth  with  joy  resounds, 
Eve's  bridal  song,  through  Eden's  verdant  bounds. 

Love  first  waked  music  :   and  the  tuneful  mind 

Pours  still,  thro'  thrilling  notes,  with  rapture  fraught. 

In  one  deep  symphony  of  passion  joined, 

Hope,  fear,  love,  joy,  —  whate'er  of  earnest  thought, 
Or  ardent  feeling,  sound  from  soul  hath  caught, 

SCULPTURE. 
I. 


Chained  to  the  chariot  of  triumphant  art, 

We  stand  as  captives,  and  would  not  depart.       BYRO.V. 


Nature  is  perfect,  yet  can  Art  improve 
On  that  perfection  ;   for  'tis  her's  to  join 
All  forms  of  beauty,  and  in  one  combine 

Their  scattered  glories,  and  each  shade  remove  : 

"  Lucretius,  Lib.  V.  1.  1378. 


/O  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

flence  works  of  art,  that  mingle  awe  with  love. 
Natural,  yet  superhuman  ;   forms  divine, 
Yet  earth-born,  quarried  from  the  living  mine 

Of  truth  and  grandeur  in  the  artist's  soul. 
'Tis  his  on  nature's  beauties  to  refine, 

Her  charms  improve,  and  pour  around  the  whole 
The  master  mind  creative  ;  for  when  such 

His  noblest  work  to  latest  time  would  give, 
The  stone,  grown  flexible  beneath  his  touch, 

Breathes  silent  thought,  and  marble  learns  to  live. 


II. 


'Twas  but  a  block  of  lifeless  stone 
Angelo,  Phidias,  wrought  upon, 

Worthless  in  other  hands  ; 
Yet  thej-  could  form  to  sculpture  give. 
That  bade  the  cold  dead  marble  live, 

While  earth's  foundation  stands. 


Who  that  has  gazed,  in  rapture's  silent  dream, 
On  thee,  O  Queen  of  Love  !  till,  in  his  sight, 

Thy  modest  charms,  with  warm  emotion  teem  : 
Or  hung,  in  prouder  glow  of  wrapt  delight, 
On  Phrebus,  victor  in  the  archer  fight  : 

Laocoon's  pain,  the  Gladiator's  gleam 

Of  sadly  parting  life  ;   or,  down  the  stream 

Floating  with  time,  has  fixed  his  earnest  gaze. 
On  matchless  monuments  of  later  days, 

His  of  the  Julian  tomb  and  Martyr's  fane, 

Canova,  Chantrey,  or  the  deathless  Dane  ; 
Who  but  has  felt  that  marble,  in  such  strife, 
Transcends,  in  lasting  power,  the  real  life  ; 

Life,  matched  with  highest  art,  found  weak  and  vaiu. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


PAINTING. 


They  are,  in  truth,  the  substance,  we  the  shadows. 

WORDSWORTH. 


Xor  less  the  Painter,  with  his  brush,  can  spread 
Enchantment  round  him,  studious  still  to  trace 
Each  form  of  grandeur  and  supernal  grace  ; 

Where  light  and  shade  their  blended  beauties  shed 
O'er  depth  and  distance,  posture,  limb,  and  face  ; 

Till  Mind,  the  great  Invisible,  portrayed, 

Stands  brightly  forth,  in  living  light  arrayed. 
Thoughts,  evanescent  as  the  frown,  or  smile, 

On  beauty's  changeful  cheek,  love,  joy,  hope,  fear, 

In  lasting  colours  fixed,  unchanging  here, 
Inform  with  life  the  canvass  ;   and  beguile 

Far  distant  strangers,   ages  hence,  whose  praise 
Can  ne'er  the  artist  reach,  lone  laid,  the  while, 

In  death's  dark  realms,  unconscious  of  their  gaze. 


MORNING    WALK. 


Go,  breathe  the  morning  air,  and  feel  its  touch, 
On  thy  wan  cheek,  more  soothing  to  the  soul, 
Than  sleep,  or  medicine,  to  the  languid  frame. 


Though  wild  scenes  charm,  yet  dearer  far  to  me 
The  quiet  walk,  in  spring  tide,  through  the  glade, 
At  early  dawn,  when  forest  birds  have  made 

Yon  grore  harmonious  with  wild  notes  of  glee. 
7* 


78  SCENES    FKOM    THE    PAST. 

There,  all  unseen,  I  wander  in  the  shade, 
To  gaze  on  nature,  in  her  charms  arrayed, 

Mid  hum  of  insects,  and  the  murmuring  bee  ; 
To  breathe  the  freshness  of  the  morning  air, 

With  odours,  wafted  from  each  budding  tree, 

And  opening  wild  flower,  —  rich  beyond  compart- 
In  dewy  lustre  bright,  and  perfumed  sweet  as  fair. 

Existence  then  is  pleasure  ;   and  to  be 

Suffices,  in  that  joyous  reverie 

Of  waking  dreams,  and  thoughts  unknown  to  care. 


EVENING    WALK. 


Then  stirs  the  feeling  infinite,  so  felt 

In  solitude,  when  we  are  least  alone.       EYRO.V. 


Nor  less  thy  charms,  O  Nature  !  touch  the  heart 
Of  thoughtful  youth,  what  time  the  balmy  air 
Of  twilight  bids  his  wandering  steps  repair 

To  sylvan  shades  ;   and  draws,  with  gentle  art, 

His  willing  thoughts  from  grovelling  cares  apart, 
To  gaze  on  ether,  and  the  lonely  star 
Of  Hesper,  urging,  in  his  pearly  car, 

Through  realms  of  beauty,  his  unwearied  race. 
Mind  then  its  piercing  glance  can  send  afar, 
Past  earth's  close  confines,  and  the  gates  unbar 

Of  highest  heaven  ;  while  Fancy  pants  to  trace, 
In  realms  unknown  of  being  yet  to  be, 
"  Those  thoughts  that  wander  through  eternity,'' 

Alike  unbounded,  or  in  time,  or  space. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


II. 


Wherefore  darts  the  mint 
With  sucli  resistless  ardour  to  embrace 
Majestic  forms  ?  AKENSIDE. 


Deem  not  such  thoughts  abstruse  unknown  to  youth  : 

Sense  of  Infinitude  is  to  the  mind 

Innate,  essential,  fixed,  though  undefined, 
Its  fountain  nature,  and  its  issues  truth. 

Man  is  not  wholly  flesh  ;  but  deep  enshrined 
Lie  powers  illimitable,  thoughts  that  dwell 
Native  in  man,  and  indestructible,  — 

The  thoughts  of  boundless  wisdom,  goodness,  power 
Rays  are  they  of  divinity,   a  flame, 
That  to  the  heavens  aspiring,  whence  it  came, 

New  strength  acquires  with  each  revolving  hour  : 
Centre  and  source  alike  of  worth  and  fame, 

Of  all  that,  rising  into  good  or  great, 

Transcends  the  narrow  bounds  of  mortal  date. 


WALK    IN    WINTER. 
I. 

Mother  severe  of  infinite  delights.         THOMPSON. 

Tis  winter,  and  the  mid-day's  dazzling  light 
Is  flashing  from  the  pure  incrusted  snow  : 
Though  cold,  yet  bracing,  are  the  winds  that  blow, 

Grateful  to  youth,  exulting  in  its  might. 


80  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Fanned  by  the  boreal  blasts,  in  healthful  glow 
Of  ruddy  cheeks,  we  climb  the  sylvan  height, 

Wild  joys  to  share,  which  winter  can  bestow, 
Plenteous  on  those,  who  shrink  not,  with  affright, 

From  scenes  which  awe,  yet  rouse,  the  daring  soul. 
A  voice  as  of  the  mighty  deep  is  here  ; 
The  winds  are  busy  mid  the  branches  sere, 

Their  huge  tops  swaying,  onward  as  they  roll. 
Prelusive  of  the  swelling  clouds  that  bear 
Heaven's  stormy  music  on  the  troubled  air. 


II. 


Wandering,  at  eve,  with  finely  frenzied  eye, 
Beneath  some  vast  old  tempest-swinging  wood  ! 

COLERIDGE. 


Power  rouses  kindred  power  the  soul  within  : 
No  tamer  pleasures  can  with  his  compare 
Who  sends  his  soaring  thoughts  abroad,  to  dare 

The  turbulence  of  nature,  and  to  win, 

Mid  tumult  of  the  tempest's  angry  din, 

Enjoyment,  in  the  consciousness  of  power, 

Self-held ;  to  highest  might  then  most  akin, 
When  worst  assailed,  in  danger's  darkest  hour. 
Weak  minds,  beneath  the  coming  storm,  may  cower 

But  bolder  spirits  rise  to  keener  life, 

And  feel,  with  each  assault,  fresh  vigour  spring  ; 

Self-poised,  like  yonder  eagle,  mid  the  strife 
Of  warring  winds,  that  rush,  in  vain,  to  wring 
One  feather  from  his  broad  imperial  wing  ! 


SCENES    FROJI    THE    PAST. 

THE    OCEAN. 
I. 


Calm,  or  convulsed  —  in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm. 
Icing  the  pole,  or,  in  the  torid  clime, 
Dark-heaving  —  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime. 

BYRON. 


Bred  inland,  I  had  reached  my  fifteenth  year, 
Ere  yet  the  waves  of  ocean  on  my  sight 
Rolled  in  their  glory.     My  intense  delight,, 

When  first  I  saw  those  living  waves  uprear 

Their  crested  heads,  lives  in  my  memory  clear, 
As  seen  but  yesterday.     Along  the  shore, 

The  storm  had  wrecked  its  fury  ;  and  the  day, 
New  risen,  looked  wildly  on  the  angry  roar 

Of  ocean,  thundering  on  that  rock  girt  bay. 
My  spirit  was  not  by  the  scene  subdued, 

But  kindled  rather  ;   as  dilating  wide 

It  rose,  o'er  ocean's  boundless  amplitude, 

In  might  of  mind,  with  power,  as  if  to  ride, 

Triumphant,  master-like,  above  the  tide. 


II. 


I  could  have  fancied  that  the  mighty  deep 
Was  e'en  the  gentlest  of  all  gentle  things. 

WORDSWORTH. 


Again  I  sought  that  headland's  rocky  crest 
O'erlooking  ocean,  —  silent  and  alone, 
Where  human  habitation  there  was  none, 

Nor  work  of  man.     The  sun  was  in  the  west; 


82  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

The  waves  lay  slumbering  on  the  parent  breast ; 

The  winds,  that  late  had  swept  the  deep,  were  flown, 
Each  to  his  cave  :   all  nature  seemed  at  rest. 

Thoughtful  I  watched  the  steady  ebb  and  flow, 
That,  far  as  eye  could  reach,  or  thought  extend, 

Rolled  on,  in  calmness,  and  in  power  below, 
Power  without  effort,  motion  without  end  ; 

Which,  as  I  gazed,  seemed,  God-like,  still  to  grow 
On  my  awed  thoughts,  —  till  ocean's  mildest  mood, 
Serene  in  grandeur,  all  my  soul  subdued. 

THE    W  H  I  T  E    HILL  S. 
I. 

Rugged  she  is,  but  fruitful  nurse  of  sons 
Magnanimous  ;  nor  shall  these  eyes  behold, 
Elsewhere,  an  object  dear,  and  sweet  as  she. 
COWPER'S  ODYSSEY. 

Thy  varied  scenes  blend  grace,  my  native  land  ! 

With  grandeur  ;  here  the  tranquil  lake, 

And  there  the  roaring  torrent, —  streams  that  break, 
Impetuous  rushing,  from  thy  mountain  strand, 
With  headlong  force,  that  scoops  the  yielding  sand, 

And  wears  down  granite.    Lo  !   where  towering  nigh. 
His  shoulders  mantled  with  yon  swelling  cloud, 
Whence  lightnings  flash,  and  thunders  roar  aloud, 

Mount  Washington  ascends  his  native  sky  ! 
Armed  with  the  avalanche,  he  sweeps  afar 

Man  and  his  works,  —  his  caverns  stored  with  snow. 
Coeval  with  the  rock.     Like  some  lone  star, 

Above  the  storm,  he  looks  on  earth  below, 
Serene  in  silence,  from  his  throne  on  high. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  83 


II. 


Above  me  are  the  Alps, 
The  palaces  of  nature,  whose  vast  walls 
Have  throned  eternity  in  icy  halls 
Of  cold  sublimity.  BYRON. 


Serene,  sublime,  in  silence,  from  thy  throne, 

Thou  look'st,  dread  monarch  !  wide  o'er  earth  around, 

Deep  awe  inspiring,  awe  till  now  unknown, 
Dark,  undefined,  that  humbles  to  the  ground 

Aspiring  pride.     Man's  spirit  bows  before 

Such  majesty  of  might,  nor  labours  more 

To  measure  strength  with  heaven.     Earth's  giant  brood, 

The  Titan  monsters,  on  their  beds  of  fire, 

Pressed  by  thy  stern  rebuke,  in  vain  aspire 
To  shake  thee  from  thy  seat  :  the  lava  flood, 
Deep  heaving  from  the  centre,  unsubdued, 

Moves  not  thy  steadfast  base  ;  nor  tempests  dire, 
Tornade,  and  torrent,  thundering  at  thy  side, 
Change  thy  stern  brow,  severe  in  lordly  pride. 


III. 


My  joy  is  in  the  wilderness  to  breathe 
The  difficult  air  of  the  iced  mountain's  top. 


BVRON. 


What  are  thy  thoughts,  proud  mount !   as  with  a  frown, 
Darkening  with  dread  the  distant  vales  below, 
Thou  lower'st,  thus  sternly,  on  our  march,  while  slow 

We  climb  the  steep  ascent  ?     Would'st  thou  send  down 


84  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Some  bolt  of  vengeance  from  thy  rocky  crown, 

To  crush  our  daring  course  ?  Proud  mountain  !  know 
Man  is  thy  master  :   freely  shall  he  go 

High  o'er  thy  topmost  towers  ;  and  thou  shall  find, 

In  these  frail  forms,  sublimities  of  mind, 
That  dwarf  thy  giant  bulk  ;   a  brighter  ray, 

More  lofty  heights,  enduring  powers,  that  last 

When  mountains  moulder,  and  their  pride  is  past. 
Mind  over  matter  holds  e'en  here  its  sway, 
E'en  here  commands,  while  subject  realms  obey. 


IV. 


Mind,  mind  alone,  —  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven, — 

The  living'  fountain  in  itself  contains, 

Of  beauteous  and  sublime.  AKENSIDK. 


Alike  in  generous  feeling  and  high  thought 
The  grand,  the  lofty,  the  sublime  we  see  : 
Yon  mighty  mountain  towers  less  gloriously, 

Than  he,  —  the  patriot  chief,  —  whom  nations  sought 
Vainly  to  honor  by  such  monument. 

In  native  virtue  great,  he  stood  the  same, 

When  fortune  frowned  on  worth,  as  when  she  lent 

Her  aid,  how  needless  !  to  augment  his  fame. 
Nor,  in  the  eye  of  reason,  is  the  toil 

Of  humbler  virtue,  in  the  vale  of  life, 

Where  modest  worth  can  passion's  onset  foil, 

And  truth  maintain  with  error's  hosts  the  strife, 
Less  glorious,  than  the  fame  that  patriots  gain 
In  camp,  or  court,  high  hall,  or  battle  plain. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  85 


THE    MOUNTAIN    STREAMS. 


The  Mountain  is  awake  ;  and  hark  !  his  voice 
Rings  like  a  giant's,  joyous  in  his  sport, — 
Joyous,  yet  changeful  still ;  in  torrents  here, 
Loud  thundering,  whispering  there,  in  gentle  rills, 
That,  soft  as  zephyr's  sigh,  breathe  love  and  joy 
And  gladness  to  all  hearts. 


The  Mountains  yield  no  fairer  sight 

Than,  mid  these  steep  alcoves, 
Th'  unnumbered  streams  that  burst  to  light. 

Where'er  my  foostep  roves. 

Bright  waters  from  the  mountain  urns, 
Come  rushing  down  each  glen, 

Where'er  the  eye  delighted  turns, 
In  crouds  like  moving  men. 

And  full  of  life,  as  human  forms, 

Rejoicingly  and  gay, 
Alike  in  sunshine  and  in  storms, 

They  speed  along  their  way. 

Each  tiny  rill  leaps  lightly  down, 

All  careless  of  the  shock  ; 
And  laughs  amid  the  sullen  frown 

Of  precipice  and  rock. 

And  pausing  now  its  waters  lay, 

A  moment  at  my  feet, 
Spread  mirror-like,  then  haste  away 

Its  kindred  streams  to  meet. 
8 


80  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Still  onward  swiftly  as  they  pass, 

Each  joins  his  fellow  rill  ; 
Till,  swollen  at  length,  the  mighty  mass 

Sweeps  down  the  sundered  hill. 

The  fount  that  scarce  sufficed  to  cool 
My  burning  breast  e'en  now, 

A  headlong  torrent,  scorning  rule, 
Bursts  from  the  mountain's  brow. 

What  late,  with  light  or  careless  stride, 

The  foot  of  youth  had  crost, 
Rolls  soon,  a  deep  and  rapid  tide, 

Afar,  in  distance  lost ! 

And  is  not  human  life  portrayed 

In  this  fair  stream  aright  ; 
As  gushing  from  its  parent  glade, 

And  sparkling  into  light, 

It  sweeps  with  gathering  strength  along, 

Oft  flashing  into  wrath  ; 
Like  manhood,  swelling,  deep  as  strong, 

Along  its  sounding  path. 

How  changed,  from  when,  all  life  and  glee, 

Its  waters  leaped  for  joy  ; 
Rejoicing,  from  its  fount  set  free, 

Like  heart  of  happy  boy  ! 

Subsiding  into  milder  mood, 

It  wanders  o'er  the  plain, 
Till  tamed  by  toil,  by  time  subdued, 

It  mingles  with  the  main. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  K7 

Thus  time  will  urge  life's  gliding  bark 

Still  onward  to  the  sea  ; 
Till  lost  amid  thy  billows  dark, 

Unknown  Eternity  ! 

Alas  !  for  men's  impatient  mind, 

Impatient  as  the  stream, 
That  hastes  to  leave  youth's  joys  behind, 

For  manhood's  darker  dream. 

But  I,  not  yet,  will  quit  thy  side, 

Fair  streamlet !  sporting  free, 
Pleased  rather,  longer  to  abide, 

Amid  the  hills  with  thee. 

Methinks,  in  these  deep  solitudes. 

Might  nymph  or  dryad  dwell, 
Where  no  rude  step  of  man  intrudes, 

To  break  fair  fancy's  spell. 

E'en  now,  from  yonder  distant  glen, 

A  voice  is  in  mine  ear; 
Unheard  in  haunts  of  busy  men. 

Deep  felt  in  silence  here. 

Tis  nature's  self,  with  soft  control, 

That  speaks  in  that  deep  voice  ; 
That  bids  her  son,  with  kindling  soul, 

In  all  her  works  rejoice. 

And  gladly  his  fond  heart  believes 

Such  promptings  from  above  : 
Her  charms  explores,  her  truth  receives 

And  triumphs  in  her  love. 


88  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Each  shade  of  discontent  retires, 
With  sorrows  troubled  dreams  ; 

While  hope  revives,  and  high  desires 
Flash  bright  as  mountain  streams. 


SCEJVES    FROM  THE  PAST. 


CONTEXT  S. 

THK  Senior — Develupement  of  the  Pociic  Faculty — Design  and  Execu 
tion — Poetic  Feelings — Benefactions  of  Genius — The  Prophets — Milton — 
Homer — Tasso — Shakspeare — Pope — Poetic  Inspiration — Free  Enquirs 
— Doubt — The  Birth  of  Truth — Metaphysics — Original  Genius — Imita 
tion — Moral  Truth — Duty — Con.science — Virtue — Knowledge — Mv  ( 'hum 
— College  Friendships — The  Farewell — The  Departure — The  Centennial 
Celebration — Conclusion. 


SCENES    FROM    THE     PAST. 


BOOK   THIRD. 


THE    SENIOR. 


The  fields,  e'en  now,  are  white  with  waving  gr 
Then  thrust  thy  sickle,  busy  reaper  !  in, 

And  cradle  largely,  on  the  cultured  plain, 
The  rich  ripe  harvest  that  thy  toil  must  win. 


MY  senior  year  was  studious,  bent  to  gain 
Whate'er  my  careless  hours  had  lost  before  ; 
Industrious,  to  make  good  the  needed  store 

Of  studies,  valued  now,  though  urged  in  vain 

By  age  on  greener  years.     The  idle  train 

Of  confident  and  vaunting  thoughts,  no  more, 
Hold  in  the  mind,  the  sway  they  held  of  yore  : 

Yet  not  the  less  does  confidence  remain, 

By  time  now  more  assured.     The  Senior  feels 
His  rising  consequence  ;  each  act  reveals, 

In  pride  of  place,  the  vigour  that,  of  right, 

Claims  precedence  ;   but  deeply  conscious  now 

That  toil  must  arm  him  for  the  coming  fight, 
Labour  is  written  on  his  thoughtful  brow. 


92  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


DESIGN    AND    EXECUTION 

"  He  spake,  and  it  was  done  !"  not  so 

When  man,  the  maker,  would  endue 
His  thought  with  life.    Imperfect,  slow, 

And  still  to  inward  sense  untrue, 
His  words  and  deeds  oft  half  conceal 
The  thoughts  they  purpose  to  reveal. 

Performance  is  at  best  the  halting  slave 
Of  high  Endeavour  ;   impotent  to  speak 
The  mind's  foregone  conceptions,  all  too  weak 

The  forms  to  fix  which  glowing  fancy  gave  : 

'Twas  hence  the  dying  Maro  would  not  save 
Th'  unfinished  JEneid  from  devouring  flames, 

So  far  his  high  performance  fell  below 

His  mind's  proud  aim  !   and  hence  the  tears  that  flow 
From  thee,  young  Ammon  !   while  ambition  claims 

New  worlds  for  conquest,  that  thy  deeds  may  show 
Semblance  of  thy  high  thoughts.    Compound  of  pride 

And  diffidence,  of  weakness  joined  with  power, 

Man  soars  and  sinks,  th'  immortal  of  an  hour, 
Though  finite,  to  the  infinite  allied. 

POETIC    FEELINGS. 
I. 

Well,  let  them  fade  :  I  can  replace, 

With  brighter  visions,  those  that  vanish  now. 
And  multiply,  at  will,  their  rainbow  hues. 
What  need  I  more  ? 

"  Many  are  poets,  who  have  never  penned 
Their  inspirations,  and  perhaps  the  best."* 
Such  "  silent  poets, "t  lyrists  of  the  breast,  — 

These  "mute  inglorious  Miltons,"|  know  to  blend, 

*  Byron.      t  Wordsworth.      J  Gray. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

In  their  own  bosoms,  harmonies  that  lend 

To  life  enchantment  :  skilled  o'er  all  to  fling 
The  magic  of  romance,  self-satisfied, 
They  ask  not  ampler  scope  for  power  or  pride  ; 

"  Unlaurelled  upon  earth,"*  they  spread  their  wing 
For  loftier  flight,  rejoiced  to  leave  behind 
'  That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind,"t 

The  weakness  that,  in  fame,  seeks  guerdon  due 
To  generous  aims  ;  which  Genius  still  should  find 

In  his  own  joyous  thoughts  and  feelings  true. 


II. 


There  is  a  pleasure  in  poetic  pains, 
Which  only  poets  know.  COWPEK. 


Not  for  applause  of  men,  or  triumphs  vain 
Of  shouting  multitudes,  doth  genius  toil  : 
Self-crowned,  the  conscious  victor  wins  the  spoil, 
And  wears  the  garland,  when  high  thoughts  attain 
Developement  within.     If  there  they  reign, 

There  triumph  still,  what  matters  it  to  him 
That  others  scorn  his  raptures,  or  would  fain, 
With  envy's  murky  cloud,  his  glories  dim  ? 
Little  heeds  he,  —  that  blind  old  bard,  whose  dreams 
Nightly  Urania  visits,  with  bright  gleams 

Surpassing  mortal,  —  what  the  Belial  crew 
Of  earth-prone  grovellers  of  his  vision  deems  : 
F>nough  for  him,  that  still  bright  fancy  teems  ; 
He  asks  not  audience  large,  but  fit,  though  few. 

*  Bvron.       f  Milton. 


94  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


BENEFACTIONS    OF    GENIUS. 


Tis  to  create,  and  in  creating  live 
A  being  more  intense,  that  \ve  endow 
NVitli  Conn  our  fancy.  BY  HON. 


Yet  has  true  genius  still  the  generous  aim 
To  share  its  treasures  with  the  world  of  men  : 
And  hence  each  wrapt  enthusiast  of  the  pen, 

That  small,  but  potent  instrument  of  fame, 

Traces,  in  lines  of  light  and  living  flame, 
Bright  forms  of  fancy,  to  the  vulgar  ken 

Else  inaccessible  :  yet,  once  portrayed, 
They  live  forever,  peopling  each  low  glen 

And  dark  recess,  with  purest  forms  divine 

Of  grace  and  grandeur  —  fated  still  to  shine, 
When  he,  their  mighty  maker,  in  the  shade 

Sleeps,  all  unconscious  of  his  high  renown  : 
Say  rather,  that  his  spirit  now  hath  made 

New  conquests,  winning  yet  a  brighter  crown. 


THE    PROPHETS. 


They  grow  like  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  — 

Even  in  old  age,  they  bring  forth  fruit  ; 

They  are  green  and  full  of  sap.       NOYES'  PSALMS 


The  Hebrew  bards  and  prophets,  in  my  breast 
First  roused  poetic  feeling,  while  I  mused 
On  orient  splendours,  o'er  their  page  diffused, 

In  colours  gorgeous  as  the  glowing  west 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  95 

Shed  ever,  at  the  setting  sun's  behest. 

Sublime,  pathetic,  lovely,  deep  infused 

With  earnest  thought,  from  earth's  low  bondage  loosed, 
They  rise,  on  wings  of  fire,  to  realms  of  rest. 

The  touching  tenderness  of  David,  shown 
In  grateful  praise,  or  sorrow  sore  exprest 

For  sinful  deed  ;  Job's  high  indignant  tone 

Of  injured  virtue;  Amoz'  daring  son, 
And  he,  who  wept  their  woes  at  Babylon, 

I  loved  them  all,  all  other  bards  unknown. 


MILTON. 


On  evil  days  though  fallen,  and  evil  tongues, 
In  darkness,  and  with  danger  compassed  round, 
And  solitude.  PARADISE  LOST. 


Trained  in  the  Hebrew  schools,  and  from  their  well 
Drawing  deep  draughts,  came  Milton ;  prophet,  fired 
With  kindred  ardour,  and,  if  less  inspired, 

Not  less  poetic.     His  the  notes  that  swell 

Angelic  anthems  :  powers,  in  heaven  that  dwell, 
Breathe  life  around  him  :  high  his  genius  towers 
With  Satan,  warring  now  'gainst  heavenly  powers, 

And  now  triumphant  on  the  throne  of  hell. 
Clad  in  sublimity  of  daring  thought, 

Yet  could  he  wreath,  at  will,  his  harp  with  flowers, 

Lovely  as  Eve  in  Eden,  mid  the  bowers 

Of  primal  innocence.     Such  beauty,  fraught 

With  sweet  attractive  grace  and  softness,  ne'er 

Tempered  before  such  majesty  austere. 


9<>  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

HOMER. 
I. 


Oft  from  tli'  Ionian  peasant  did  HE  bog. 
Ay,  beg,  and  was  denied,  the  food  and  rest 
Frail  nature  craves  :  yet  him,  the  rhapsodist, 
Chance-fed,  and  hovel-sheltered,  Time  hath  crowned 
Immortal  among  men. 


My  young  poetic  reading  was  confined, 

Long  time,  to  Homer,  —  in  the  garb  arrayed 

Of  Pope's  mellifluous  English,  —  where  displayed. 

In  glowing  forms,  the  Grecian  fire,  combined, 

With  modern  art  and  manners  more  refined, 

Could  charm  at  once  and  rouse  me  Greece  and  Troy 

In  combat  mingling  on  the  Dardan  plain, 
.Eneas,  Hector,  the  fond  father's  joy, 

The  fair  Andromache's  presaging  fear, 
Proud  Agamemnon,  base  Thersites'  vein, 

Wronged  Menelaus,  lovely  Hellen's  tear, 
Soft  Paris  flying,  brave  Sarpedon  slain, 

Ulysses,  Ajax,  Nestor,  Priam's  age, 

Petroclus  slaughtered,  and  Achilles'  rage. 

II. 


Him  partially  the  Muse 
And  early  loved,  yet  gave  him  good  and  ill ; 
She  quenched  his  sight,  but  gave  strains  divine. 
COWPER'S  ODYSSEY. 


Nor  less  the  Olympian  powers  my  thoughts  engage 
Jove,  Juno,  Phoebus,  Neptune's  wide  domain  ; 
Swart  Vulcan,  limping  mid  the  glittering  train 

Of  throned  divinities  ;  Minerva  sage, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  9? 

Alike  with  valour  and  deep  thought  imbued  : 
The  rolling  Xanthus,  with  his  billowy  rage 

Ingulfing  armies,  yet  by  man  subdued  ; 
Chaste  Dian,  huntress  of  the  sylvan  plain, 
Mars,  Venus,  Saturn,  Pluto's  gloomy  reign  ; 

The  myriad  forms,  that,  peopling  earth  and  air. 
Unseen  yet  present,  rule  o'er  earth  and  main, 

Whose  adverse  aid  contending  armies  share  ; 
These  fired  my  fancy,  wrapt  in  visions  high 
Of  warring  Gods,  and  councils  of  the  sky. 


T  A  S  S  O. 


Glory  without  end 

Scatters  the  clouds  ;  and  on  that  name  attend 
The  tears  and  praises  of  all  time.      BYRON. 


Tasso  first  opened,  on  my  wondering  gaze, 
Thy  world,  O  Chivalry  !  till  then  unknown  ; 
Romance  and  knightly  faith,  the  valour  shown 

On  mortal  and  immortal  foes  ;  the  blaze 

Of  that  fierce  fire,  which  burned  in  elder  days, 

And  still,  though  softened,  wide  o'er  earth  hath  thrown 
Bright  sparkles  of  high  honour,  that  atone, 

Haply,  for  deeds  else  winning  little  praise  ; 
Wild  deeds  of  frantic  passion,  war,  and  strife, 
By  reckless  valour  waged,  in  scorn  of  life. 

Nor  less  'twas  his  on  gentler  themes  to  dwell 
Of  tender  love,  the  bard,  whose  heart  aspired 
To  match  with  prince's  blood,  till  passion  fired 

His  soul  to  madness  in  his  narrow  cell. 
9 


9S  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


S  II  A  K  S  P  E  A  R  E. 


I  am  the  king  himself,  — 
Ay,  every  inch  a  king.         LEAR. 

Would  that  my  verse  were  worthier,  while  I  sing 
Thy  praise,  O  Shakspeare  !  so  thine  ear  might  lend 
No  unpleased  audience,  while  my  numbers  blend 
Thy  wood  notes  wild,  with  sounds  that  faintly  ring 
From  feebler  harps.     Thou,  e'en  in  wildest  mood, 
Art  still  to  nature  true,  thy  mind  imbued 
With  inbred  wisdom  :  not  earth's  sagest  pen 
More  true  to  life,  than  thy  pervading  ken, 

That  glanced  o'er  earth,  and  all  its  movements  view'd. 
The  many-branching  maze  of  human  thought 
To  thee  lay  open  ;  thy  keen  eye  had  caught 

Each  subtle  turn,  and  all  its  paths  pursued  ; 
Till  highest  truths,  in  richest  fancy  drest, 
Lived  in  each  thought,  and  all  thy  soul  possest. 


II. 


When  he  speaks, 

The  air,  a  chartered  libertine,  is  still ; 
And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears. 
To  steal  liis  sweet  and  honied  sentences. 

HEiNRY  V. 


Not  greatly  did  he  err,  the  priest,  who  said 
His  Bible,  and  thy  page  to  him  sufficed, 
Shakspeare  !  for  knowledge  :  other  books  he  prized, 

But  these  were  peerless  ;  these  he  daily  read 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

For  truths,  divine  and  human  ;  well  advised 
That  wisdom  here,  as  at  the  fountain  head, 
Her  pure  streams  poured,  her  richest  verdure  spread. 

Bright  child  of  fancy  !  sporting  on  the  verge 
Of  utmost  sense,  'tis  thine,  at  will,  to  stray, 
Familiar  through  all  bounds,  nor  lose  thy  way  ; 

Or,  haply  lost,  yet  quickly  to  emerge 
From  seeming  darkness  to  unclouded  day  ; 

Broad  as  man's  nature,  thy  capacious  soul 

Surveyed  all  worlds,  and  harmonized  the  whole. 


POPE. 


Late,  very  late,  correctness  was  our  care  — 
K'en  copious  Dryden  knew  not,  or  forgot, 
The  last  and  greatest  art,  the  art  to  blot. 

IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE. 


With  rays  refulgent,  in  the  realms  of  fame, 

Shines  Pope's  bright  star.     Albeit  not  first  in  place, 
Yet  high,  among  the  mighty,  stands  that  name, 

By  few  surpassed.     What  though  there  fail  the  race 

Of  giant  genius,  in  their  stead  we  trace 
No  pigmy  brood  ;   and  Pope  o'er  these  may  claim 

Justly  preeminence.     With  judgment  clear, 
Bright  wit,  and  satire  keen,  if  daring  thought 

And  lofty  fancy  less  in  him  appear, 
His  aim  not  less  was  worthy  ;  wisely  taught, 

"  He  stooped  to  truth,  and  moralized  his  song;" 
And  hence  his  muse,  in  strains  that  will  not  die, 

Breathes  love  of  virtue,  manly,  generous,  strong, 
With  scorn  for  vice,  though  throned,  or  mitred  high. 


100  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

POETIC    INSPIRATION. 
I. 

The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine.      WORDSWORTH. 

Tis  the  prerogative  of  genius  still 
To  waken  imitation  ;  to  infuse 
In  others  kindred  feelings,  and  produce 

fn  all  like  ardour.     At  the  muses'  rill 

Not  long  I  drink,  delighted,  ere  the  thrill 
Of  transport  fires  me.     How  can  I  refuse 
When  Homer  calls,  or  Maro  ?  Milton's  muse 

Speaks,  monarch-like,  with  potency  of  will, 

That  brooks  not  question  ;  Shakspeare's  magic  strain 
Of  deep  enchantment,  never  heard  in  vain, 

Wakes  kindling  thoughts  ;  nor  soon,  nor  long  forgot, 
Is  Moore's  bright  fancy,  Byron's  stormful  power, 

Burns,  Southey,  Campbell,  Crabbe,  the  minstrel  Scott. 
Nor  Wordsworth,  thoughtful  in  his  rural  bower. 


II. 


From  heaven  descends 
The  flame  of  genius  to  the  human  breast, 
And  love,  and  beauty,  and  poetic  joy, 
And  Inspiration.  AKENSIUE. 


Hence  not  with  borrowed  lustre,  but  from  fire 
Self-kindled,  in  his  own  pure  heart  to  burn, 
The  bard  must  warm  his  fancies  :  nor  can  turn 

For  aid  to  others'  thoughts,  who  would  aspire 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  101 

To  strike,  with  fearless  hand,  the  living  lyre. 

The  fountains  of  deep  thought  within,  unsealed, 
Must  pour  their  treasures  forth.     Bright  truths  lie  hid, 

Pure,  unadulterate,  in  depths  concealed 
Of  self-confitling  souls  ;   and  spring,  unhid, 

In  music  forth,  to  earnest  hearts  revealed, 
That  heed  their  promptings  :  not  the  parrot  strain 
Of  mock-bird  imitation,  weak  as  vain  ; 

But  truths  of  thought  and  feeling,  such  as  rise, 

Spontaneous  springing  in  the  good  and  wise. 


III. 


Vet  was  poetic  impulse  given 

By  the  green  hill,  and  clear  blue  heaven. 


What  wonder  if,  so  nurtured  mid  the  quire 

Of  heaven-throned  poets,  my  young  hopes  would  fain 
Grasp  kindred  power,  ambitious  to  attain 

The  rare  found  honors  of  the  sounding  lyre. 

Not  that  my  muse  presumptuous  dared  aspire, 
In  wildest  dream,  to  swell  the  epic  strain  : 
The  love  of  nature  waked  a  gentler  train 

Of  milder  contemplations;  while  the  fire 
Of  youthful  feeling,  warm  in  passion's  glow, 
Fused  my  rough  verse,  and  taught  its  strains  to  flow. 

Lone  walks  in  autumn,  joyous  sports  in  spring, 
Soft  twilight's  balmy  breath,  old  ocean's  roar, 
The  wild  wood's  wilder  music,  and  far  more, 

Thy  smile,  O  Beauty  !  taught  my  heart  to  sing. 


102  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


IV. 


Oft  have  I  bade  the  Muse  farewell  ; 
And  sought  as  oft  her  haunted  cell  ; 
Oft  lingered,  till  her  partial  smile 
Could  grief  assuage,  and  enrc  beguile. 


True  liegeman  of  the  Muse  did  ne'er  proclaim 
Her  favours  few,  or  worthless.     Though  on  ten 
Her  richest  gifts  she  showers,  to  such  is  due 
Justly  the  recompence  of  lasting  fame. 
Earth  knows  no  splendour  purer  than  the  Hume 

That  radiates  from  the  brow  of  bard  divine, 
When,  from  the  fount  within,  clear,  sparkling,  strong, 
He  pours  o'er  life's  dull  wastes  the  tide  of  song. 

Yet  not  to  such  the  muse's  gifts  confine, 
Nor  deem  to  these  alone  her  joys  belong  : 

The  ocean  tides,  on  each  wide  shore  that  beat, 
Have  yet  their  smaller  waves,  and  streams  that  fill 
Each  creek  and  inlet  :  haply  some  bright  rill 
May  reach,  at  times,  e'en  this  my  far  retreat. 


FREE    I  N  Ci  U  1  R  V. 


He  is  the  freeman  whom  the  truth  makes  free. 
And  all  are  slaves  beside.         co\\  1'Kii. 


Truth  dwells  with  reason,  in  the  pure  clear  light 
Of  free  inquiry  ;  Error  in  the  den 
Of  power  despotic,  where  the  minds  of  men. 

By  force,  by  fraud,  by  superstition's  might. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  I  ( 

Are  dwarfed,  and  dwindle  from  their  native  height. 
Man's  primal  attribute,  which  tongue  and  pen 

Alike  should  vindicate,  is  fearless  thought. 
All  else  is  false,  or  worthless  :  life  is  vain, 
If  custom,  creed,  opinion's  galling  chain, 

Bow  down  the  soul,  with  fear  of  change  inwrought. 
Force  wounds  the  mind,  worse  than  the  body's  pain, 

With  sense  of  wrong  intolerable  fraught. 

Claim  then,  O  man  !   as  birthright  of  mankind, 
Freedom  of  thought,  and  fearlessness  of  mind. 


D  O  U  B  T. 


Modest  doubt  is  called 
The  beacon  of  the  wise.  SHAKSPKARJ:. 


Doubts  spring,  full  oft,  with  knowledge  ;  and  extend 
Furthest  in  strongest  minds  ;  the  minds  that  soar 
Highest  for  truth,  and  subtlest  thoughts  explore  : 

Hence  new  inquiries,  questions  without  end, 

And  doubts,  still  springing,  as  their  issues  tend 
To  adverse  answers  ;  marring  oft  the  store 
Of  past  acquirements,  valued  now  no  more, 

Deemed  false,  uncertain,  or  of  small  avail. 
Yet  fear  not  thence  the  issue,  so  thy  mind, 
On  truth  intent,  to  virtue  be  inclined. 

The  winds  of  doubtful  doctrine  may  assail 

Truth's  flexile  branches  ;  but  the  trunk  and  root 
Gain  strength  by  agitation,  and  the  fruit, 

Mid  storms  of  error  ripened,  ne'er  can  fail. 


104  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

THE    BIRTH    OF    T  R  U  T  II. 
I. 

I  will  speak,  that  1  may  be  relieved.       NOVLS'  JOB. 

Who  hath  not  felt,  at  times,  his  mind  o'erwronght 

With  inhred  agony  of  stirring  thought  : 

With  consciousness  that  Truth,  pent  up  within, 

Burns  in  his  breast,  like  burthen  of  deep  sin, 

And  must  be  forth  ?     Though  oft  reproach  and  pain 

WTait  on  the  births  of  time,  yet,  in  his  brain, 

The  germ  of  nascent  truth  is  struggling  still 

For  form  and  utterance  —  moulding  thought  and  \vil 

Unseen,  deep  felt,  with  nature's  plastic  power, 

In  darkness  working  sure  ;  till  lo  !   the  hour 

Predestined  comes,  when  fire-eyed  Truth  to  life 

Springs,  Pallas-like,  all  armed  for  instant  strife  ; 

For  strife  with  error  armed,  the  Titan  brood 

Of  vice  and  folly,  foiled,  but  unsubdued. 


II. 


Truth,  like  virtue,  can  he  won 
But  by  resolute  endeavour  : 

Error's  waves,  that  round  her  run. 
Foam,  and  roar,  but  move  her  never  : 

Calm  she  stands,  mid  passion's  shock, 

Firm,  unshaken  as  the  rock. 


Like  giant  sentinels,  stand  Fear  and  Doubt, 
Ever  at  Truth's  strong  gates :  who  enters  here 
Must  Doubt  subdue,  nor  shrink,  o'ercome,   by  Fear 

Else  shall  he  dwell  despairingly  without, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  10:) 

In  darkness  dwell,  with  fear  and  headlong  rout  ; 

With  blind  uncertainty,  and  error's  brood 

Of  vice  in  league  with  folly.     These  subdued, 
No  foe  remains  :  Truth's  portals  wide  unfold, 

And  lo  !   the  Goddess  radiant  on  her  throne. 
The  clouds  dissolve,  by  misty  error  rolled 

Round  human  thought,  and  doubt  and  dread  are  flown 
Truth  smiles,  well  pleased,  on  Virtue  at  her  side ; 
Arid  bright  eyed  Beauty,  pleasure's  rosy  bride, 

Comes,  joy-attended,  to  pale  fear  unknown. 

METAPHYSICS. 


"  My  mind  is  my  kingdom"  —  then  surely  :tis  meet 
Its  wants  to  examine,  its  wealth  to  explore  ; 

To  trace  up  its  streams,  through  each  winding  retreat, 
Its  vales  for  rich  pasture,  its  mountains  lor  ore. 

Long  time,  I  laboured  in  the  darksome  mine 
Of  deep  enquiry  ;   fruitful  oft  times  found 
In  error  ;  fruitful  more,  in  thoughts  profound 
And  truths  of  highest  worth  ;  truths  at  whose  shrine- 
Mind  bows  in  homage,  as  to  power  divine. 

No  narrow  range  my  ardent  search  could  bound  ; 
Nor  toils  subdue,  nor  coward  fears  debar 
My  eager  quest,  through  realms  of  thought  afar, 

Mid  gloom  of  darkness,  o'er  entangled  ground. 
With  subtle  disputants,  in  wordy  war, 

So  doubt  but  lead,  at  last,  to  doctrines  sound. 
Each  rising  light  I  hailed,  each  wandering  star, 
Thy  sons,  O  Genius  !   blazing  bright  around, 
So  bright,  alas  !  they  dazzle  and  confound, 


100  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


II. 


Though  hard  the  soil,  and  cold  the  clinic  may  be, 
Tis  native  to  the  thoughtful  and  (he  free  ; 
And  rich  the  products  studious  toil  may  gain 
From  wastes,  that  frown  along  that  bleak  domain. 


Hohbes'  startling  paradox,  and  power  intense 

Of  compact  thought ;   Locke's  free  and  fearless  mind 
Hume's  subtle  truth  and  sophistry  refined  ; 

The  rugged  ore  of  Butler's  sterling  sense  ; 

Smith's  glow  of  sympathetic  eloquence  ; 

Reid's  power  of  patient  thought,  devoid  of  art ; 
The  graceful  Stewart's  polished  mind  and  heart. 

Could  each,  in  turn,  to  me  its  aids  dispense  : 
My  aim,  through  all,  the  secret  haunts  to  win 
Of  human  nature,  and  the  world  within  ; 

That  master  science,  whence  all  others  flow, 

That  central  height  sublime,  where  spreading  wide, 
In  varied  prospect,  seen  on  every  side, 

Thy  realms,  O  Thought  !  lie  clear  and  bright  below. 

ORIGINAL    G  E  N  I  U  S. 
I. 


I  will  not  jump  With  common  spirits. 
Nor  rank  nic  with  the  barbarous  multitudes. 

SHAKSI'KARK. 


Hobbes'  said,  nor  need  we  here  his  speech  gainsay, 
"  If  I  had  read  as  much  as  other  men, 

I  should  have  known  as  little  !"     Prone  to  stray, 
Dogmatic,  cold,  contemptuous,  yet  his  pen 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  107 

Traced  even  his  own  thoughts  ;  no  babble  vain 
Of  idle  words,  or  senseless  sounds  inane, 

But  clear,  precise,  with  pregnant  meaning  fraught, 
His  own,  and  not  another's.     He  might  err, 
None  more,  or  wider  ;   but  he  knew  to  stir, 

In  other  minds,  the  germs  of  living  thought; 
And  this  is  Genius  :  yet  he  failed  in  part, 

And  that  the  noblest ;  reason's  power  alone, 

The  hard,  dry  intellect,  to  him  was  known, 
Unconscious,  or  disdainful  of  the  heart. 


II. 

Though  Wit,  in  pleasure's  laughing  bower, 

Springs  free,  mid  social  mirth, 
Tis  Contemplation's  lonely  hour 

Gives  thoughtful  Genius  birth. 

Genius  is  nursed  in  solitude  :  the  mind, 
Turned  inward  on  itself,  intently  draws, 
From  close  observance  of  thought's  inmost  laws, 

The  nature,  structure,  wants  of  human  kind. 

Here  first  wakes  Genius,  —  offspring  rare,  combined 
Of  head  and  heart,  of  thought  that  overawes, 

With  deep  intensest  feeling  closely  joined. 

Hence  truths  unborrowed,  thoughts  in  words  once  breathe 
That  glow  with  life,  to  latest  time  bequeathed. 

Drawn  from  this  centre  of  enduring  thought, 

Flow  streams  perennial  :  hence  hath  beauty,  fraught 
With  living  lustre,  round  young  genius  wreathed 

Her  lasting  laurels,  wide  as  land  and  main, 

Monarch  unquestioned,  over  all  to  reign. 


106  SCENES    FROM    TIIK    PAST. 

I  M  I  T  A  T  I  O  N. 

True  to  the  jingling  of  our  leader's  bells.        COWPER. 

Genius  draws  truth  from  nature  :  her  impress, 
Stamped  on  the  page,  transfers  the  living  mind  : 

But  Imitation  still  her  forms  would  dress 
In  mimickry  of  life;  for  truth  designed, 
Yet  leaving  truth  alike  and  life  behind. 

How  few  think  for  themselves  !  the  common  class, 
On  novelty  intent,  with  nothing  new, 
Where  custom  leads,  the  beaten  track  pursue, 

There  only  following  where  all  others  pass. 

What  are  the  books  we  read,  the  nameless  mass? 

Mere  show,  not  substance  ;    forms,  in  shape  and  hue 

Grotesque,  fantastic,  seen  in  folly's  glass, 
Copies  of  copies,  shadows  of  a  shade, 
By  each  transmission  still  more  worthless  made. 

MORAL    TRUTH. 


Wherefore  burns 

In  mortal  bosom  this  uuquenehed  hope, 
That  breathes,  from  day  to  day,  sublimer  things. 
And  mocks  possession  ?          AKKNSIDK. 


In  Moral  Truths  alone  man's  nature  finds 
His  highest  powers'  developement :  these  ask 
His  utmost  stretch,  to  compass  their  high  task, 

And  reach  in,  virtuous  action,  all  that  binds, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  109 

In  firm  yet  gentle  bonds,  the  noblest  minds  ; 

The  sense  of  duty,  honor,  moral  right, 
And  virtue's  generous  aim,  the  soul's  proud  flight 

Highest  to  heaven.     Yet  lured,  by  folly's  train, 
From  wisdom's  paths,  to  wander  mid  the  night 

Of  error's  maze,  man  sinks,  subdued  by  pain. 
By  want,  remorse,  by  sorrow's  sudden  blight  : 

Then  turns,  so  disciplined,  his  thoughts  again 

To  truer  knowledge,  eager  to  attain 
The  living  radiance  of  unborrowed  liorht. 


II. 


With  Meekness  of  Wisdom.        ST.  JAMES. 

The  prophet  stood  on  Horeb  ;   and  the  force 

Of  mighty  winds  swept  by  him  in  their  course  : 
God  was  not  in  the  wind.     Ere  long  their  came 

A  power  volcanic,  bursting  from  the  source 

Of  central  fires,  that  shook  earth's  solid  frame  : 
God  was  not  in  the  earthquake,  or  the  flame. 

Next  fell,  on  the  veiled  prophet's  awe  struck  ear, 

A  STILL  SMALL  VOICE,  in  accents  mild  as  clear, 
And  God  was  there.     His  ways  are  still  the  same  ; 

In  gentle  whispers,  to  wise  hearts  that  hear, 

Truth  speaks,  else  mute  ;  her  voice  is  seldom  found 
Where  noise,  and  wrath,  and  turbulence  abound. 

Inferior  powers  are  boisterous  ;  Truth  alone 

Victorious  without  violence  is  known. 

10 


HO  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


DUTY. 


I  asked  of  mine  own  heart,  if  it  were  so  ? 
And,  as  he  said,  the  living  instinct  there 
Answered,  and  owned  the  truth.  SOUTHEY. 


It  OUGHT  to  be  —  The  world's  wide  circuit  round. 
No  tongue  exists,  no  language  of  mankind, 
Ancient  or  modern,  savage  or  refined, 

Wherein  this  thought  exists  not.     How  profound 

The  sense  of  right  and  moral  duty  found 

In  this  brief  phrase,  It  SHOULD  be  done  !  The  mind 
Feels  here  the  strongest  motive  that  can  bind 

The  Will  to  moral  action,  —  else  unbound, 
And  free  to  move,  as  fancy  leads  the  way, 
As  passion  prompts,  or  selfish  interests  sway. 

Not  so  with  Duty  :  she,  as  in  a  tower 
Of  strength  impregnable,  above  the  play 
Of  adverse  passions,  knows  but  to  obey 

The  voice  of  Conscience  and  the  Moral  Power. 

CONSCIENCE. 


And  I  will  place  within  them,  as  a  guide, 
My  umpire  Conscience.         MILTON. 


Of  man's  mixed  nature  an  essential  part 
Is  Conscience,  seated  in  the  human  heart, 

Life  to  direct,  and  over  all  preside. 
Good  to  the  virtuous,  to  the  evil  pain, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  1  1  J 

Is  hers  to  give,  who  never  gives  in  vain. 

In  error's  paths,  when  mortals  wander  wide, 
Her  voice  corrective  calls  their  steps  again 

To  virtue  back.     Tis  passion  that  misleads 
The  native  rectitude  of  human  thought, 
Else  seldom  erring.     In  God's  image  wrought, 

And  fashioned  to  his  will,  man's  thoughts  and  deeds, 
Though  weak  and  wavering  oft,  are  virtuous  still, 
If  duty  sway,  and  conscience  rule  the  will  : 

Nor  other  guide  he  needs,  so  ruled  and  taught. 


II. 


Life  of  our  life,  our  monitor  and  judge.         SOUTHEY. 

Conscience  is  Thought  and  Feeling,  fused  entire  : 
Thought,  piercing,  clear  of  sight,  discerning  sure 
The  true  from  false  ;   and  Feeling,  earnest,  pure, 

By  selfish  aim  unmoved,  and  low  desire  ; 
The  union  just  of  man's  whole  moral  frame, 
Harmonious  mingling  here,  like  fire  and  flame; 

Bright  as  the  flame,  and  warming  like  the  fire. 
Reason  is  cold,  till  passion  touch  the  pile, 
And  thought  explodes  in  action  :  rank  and  file 

To  range  the  thoughts,  in  forms  of  seemly  art, 
Is  reason's  task  ;   but  in  the  heart  reside 

The  springs  of  action  :   be  it  then  thy  part, 

So  to  direct  the  issues  of  the  heart, 

That  virtuous  feeling  may  be  still  thy  guide. 


Il'-i  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


III. 


This  light  and  darkness  in  our  chaos  joined, 
Who  shall  divide  ?    The  God  within  the  mind. 
POPE. 


The  right  of  conscience  over  human  minds 
Is  paramount  and  sovereign  :  had  she  power, 
As  she  has  right,  the  world  would  be  her  dower 
But  strength  too  oft  is  wanting  :  Interest  blinds, 
Hope's  meteors  dazzle,  Sophistry  refines, 
And  Passion  urges  with  impetuous  sway, 
Till  Conscience,  overborne,  at  times  o-ives  wav  : 

• 

Yet  rallying  soon,  she  ne'er  the  strife  resigns, 
But,  in  the  moment  of  their  triumph,  flings, 

Like  barbed  arrows  on  her  foes  infixed, 
Itemorse  and  Guilt's  immedicable  stings. 

Hope  may  be  theirs,  with  guilty  terrors  mixed, 
And  impious  joys  ;  but  peace  is  never  known, 
Till  right  returns,  and  conscience  rules  alone. 


IV. 


What  nothing  earthly  gives,  or  can  destroy. 
The  soul's  calm  sunshine,  and  the  heartfelt  joy. 
POPK. 


Yet  was  not  Conscience  given  to  scourge  mankind 
Her  noblest  office  is  when  man  attains 
The  height  of  strenuous  duty  ;   and  thence  gains 

That  crown  of  glory,  which  the  virtuous  find 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  J  \< 

111  her  approving  smile.     Life's  sharpest  pains 
Pass  soon,  if  in  the  tented  wound  remains 

No  sting  of  evil  thought,  to  goad  the  mind  : 
Else  will  its  venom  gangrene  to  the  core, 
Festering,  and  self-inflamed,  and  burning  more, 

The  longer  borne.     Guilt's  scorching  pain 
Nor  charm  can  soothe,  nor  anodyne  allay  : 

Roused  once  to  strife,  it  never  sleeps  again, 

Till  Conscience  re-asserts  her  rightful  reign, 
And  life  reformed  takes  fear  with  guilt  away. 

VIRTUE. 


O  fool  and  hypocrite  !  that  seek'st  to  hide 
From  man,  from  God  !  what  yet  thine  evil  heart, 
No,  not  one  hour,  e'en  from  itself  can  veil, 
Thy  false  and  hollow  seeming  ! 

Heaven's  grace  in  vain  by  outward  act  is  sought  : 
The  smoke  of  sacrifices  cannot  blind, 
Nor  rich  oblations  move  th'  all  seeing  mind  : 

"Tis  honest  purpose,  following  earnest  thought, 

Habitual  virtue,  into  action  wrought, 

That  wins  his  favour;  offerings  else  are  vain, 
Penance,  or  prayer,  his  favour  to  obtain. 

Semblance  of  worth,  profession,  the  mock  phrase 

Of  false  lip  service,  these  may  wonder  raise, 
In  men,  short  sighted,  and  their  plaudit  gain  ; 

But  HE  whose  eyes  the  inmost  feelings  scan, 
Turns  with  contempt,  in  pity  from  such  sight. 
With  him,  'tis  truth  alone,  and  conscious  right, 

Virtue,  and  worth,  that  sanctify  the  man. 

10* 


114  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


II. 


For  not  in  humble,  nor  in  brief  delights, 

Not  in  the  fading  echoes  of  renown, 

Power's  purple  robes,  nor  pleasure's  flowery  lap. 

The  soul  can  find  contentment.        AKKNSIDK. 


That  is  not  virtue,  to  which  fear  inclines, 
Or  hope  of  the  reward  :  the  fear  of  hell, 
The  hope  of  heaven,  in  mortal  breasts  may  d\ve 

As  motives  suited  to  imperfect  minds  ; 

But  love  of  virtue,  when  her  seat  she  finds 
In  manly  hearts,  will  selfish  aims  repel, 

And  sordid  fears  ;  till  rising  to  the  height 

Of  justice,  duty,  innate  sense  of  right, 

No  meaner  powers  the  free  born  soul  can  quell. 

Self  sinks  abashed,  and  coward  fears  take  flight, 
At  virtue's  call  ;  while  generous  thoughts  impel 

To  noblest  deeds,  that  do  themselves  requite. 
Nor  other  guerdon  asks  ;  proud  to  regard 
Life's  sternest  duty  as  its  best  reward. 


KNOWLEDGE. 


Fortune  may  frown,  and  fickle  friends  depart, 
But  truth  remains,  and  knowledge  cheers  the  henrt. 


Though  rough  the  entrance,  and  the  guide  austere, 
Thy  paths,  O  Knowledge  !  have  been  still  to  me 
The  paths  of  pleasantness  and  peace  :  not  free 

From  toilsome  march,  and  prospects  wild  and  drear. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  1 15 

Which  time  alone  could  soften  and  endear  ; 

Yet  crowned  with  blossoms,  on  each  spreading  tree, 

In  promise  fair  of  produce  yet  to  be, 
Rich  fruits  maturing  with  each  changeful  year. 

Knowledge  and  Virtue,  children  of  one  birth, 
Are  trained  to  wisdom  in  the  school  of  truth  : 

The  seeds  of  knowledge,  scattered  wide  o'er  earth, 
Strike  deep  their  roots  in  soil  of  opening  youth : 

And  fair,  in  recompense  of  early  toil, 

The  harvests  yielded  by  that  generous  soil. 

M  Y    C  H  U  M. 


What  tragic  tears  bc-dim  the  eye, 

What  deaths  we  sutler  ere  we  die  ! 

Our  broken  friendships  we  deplore, 

And  loves  of  youth  that  are  no  more.      I.OGAX. 

How  strong,  in  early  life,  is  friendship's  claim  ! 
Ere  age  has  taught  disgust,  or  boding  fear 
Finds  in  each  friend  a  dreaded  rival  near  : 

Not  love  himself  can  warmer  wishes  frame, 

Or  wake,  in  later  years,  a  purer  flame. 

Friend  of  my  youth  !   whom  fondest  thoughts  endear, 
For  thee  first  felt,  while  life  and  love  beat  here, 

Needs  must  this  heart,  at  friendship's  sacred  name, 
To  thee  revert ;   and  o'er  thy  lonely  urn, 
Mourn  joys  departed,  never  to  return. 

1'nlike  our  tempers,  and  the  course  we  held, 

At  times,  e'en  adverse  ;  yet  was  union  wrought, 
By  fondest  sympathy  of  tender  thought, 

That  pleasure  heightened,  and  each  grief  dispelled. 


1J6  SCENES  FUOM  THE  PAST. 


II. 


The  flint  lies  useless,  till  the  smitten  steel 
Strikes  forth  its  fire  :  so  slumbers  oft  the  mind, 
Till  startled  into  life,  t>y  sudden  j;ir 
Of  adverse  minds,  —  adverse,  but  not  unfriendly. 


Four  years  we  roomed  together,  we  alone 
Of  all  our  class  so  mated  ;  three  before 
Had  known  each  other  ;  schooled  in  classic  lore 

On  the  same  bench,  our  inmost  thoughts  had  grown 

From  youth  familiar,  loved  as  soon  as  known  : 
Nor  e'er  came  coldness  friendship's  ties  to  rend  : 

Though  differing  wide,  in  temper  as  in  tone, 
Each  cherished,  to  the  last,  his  early  friend. 

'Twas  passion,  true  as  love,  and  warm  as  youth  ; 
Yet  mixed,  like  love,  with  humours,  such  as  urge 
Young  earnest  hearts,  when  ardent  feelings  verge 

On  sudden  wrath  ;   but  each,  intent  on  truth, 
Saw  soon  his  error,  and  rejoiced  t     feel 
New  love  rekindled  by  excited  zeal. 

COLLEGE    FRIENDSHIPS. 


A  sage  anatomist,  and  skilled  to  trace. 
In  nerve  and  tissue,  pale  disease  and  death. 
And  needful  aid  supply  ;  yet  none  the  less 
With  gentler  thoughts  conversant,  and  alive 
To  love's  warm  charities,  and  friendship's  call. 

Our  mutual  vows,  at  youthful  friendship's  shrine, 

Were  warm  with  generous  faith.    Would  I  could  give 
To  lasting  verse,  emotions  that  still  live 

In  few,  but  cherished  hearts  ;   Hayward  !  in  thine, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  11 

Which  knows  nor  sudden  change,  nor  slow  decline  ; 
But,  true  to  friendship's  claim,  can  still  bestow, 

As  erst,  its  wonted  kindness.     Words  are  faint 

The  deep  devotion  of  true  hearts  to  paint, 

When  youth,  still  confident,  disdains  to  throw 
One  glance  of  caution  on  the  world  below  ; 

Xor  deems  that  sordid  interest  e'er  can  taint 
The  liberal  heart,  or  chill,  with  selfish  fear, 
Love's  fervid  glow,  to  youthful  bosoms  dear  ; 

Though  free,  unchanged,  and  firm  without  constraint. 


THE    FAREWELL. 


Now  go  your  way,  ye  gallant  company  ! 

God  am!  good  Angels  guard  ye  as  ye  go  !       SOUTH  ET. 


Classmates,  adieu  !  the  race  is  run, 

The  promised  bounds  at  length  appear  : 

And  be  the  prize  or  lost  or  won, 

This  day  must  close  our  brief  career  ; 
Must  close,  too  soon,  our  sojourn  here, 

And  turn  our  stranger  steps  aside, 

From  Harvard's  walls  to  wander  wide. 

The  waves  of  time  roll  fast  away, 

O'er  which  our  parting  barks  must  glide 

Aloft  our  gallant  streamers  play, 

And  we  who  here,  long  side  by  side, 
Have  fearless  stood,  in  generous  pride 

Of  mutual  aid,  alone,  henceforth, 

Must  bide  our  doom,  arid  prove  our  worth, 


113  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

The  world  asserts  on  us  its  claim, 
On  us,  its  burden  now  would  lay, 

Burden  and  blessing,  toil  and  fame  : 

While  him,  who  shuns  the  onward  way, 
From  idle  fear,  or  cold  delay, 

Disgrace  awaits  ;   and  want  shall  tend 

The  laggard  to  his  journey's  end. 

Then  plunge  amid  the  eager  crowd, 
The  thronged  array  of  busy  life  ; 

Confront  the  bold,  abase  the  proud, 

Nor  shrink  from  scenes  with  danger  rife, 
Where  honour  crowns  the  manly  strife  : 

Deal  but  your  blows  with  skill  and  strength, 

The  world  will  own  your  power  at  length. 

Undaunted  in  a  world  of  wrong, 
Virtue  her  steady  course  can  hold  : 

Though  Vice  be  armed,  and  Folly  strong, 
Their  power ,  by  higher  power  controlled, 
Shrinks  from  the  manly  and  the  bold, 

From  those  who  win  their  fearless  way, 

Above  the  crowd's  ignoble  sway. 

As  well  ye  might  young  eagles  tame, 
When  soaring  from  the  parent  nest, 

With  untired  wing,  and  eye  of  flame, 
As  bid  us  here  in  quiet  rest  : 
Our  new  fledged  hopes,  to  flight  addrest, 

Flutter  impatient  in  the  air, 

The  joys  untried  of  life  to  share. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  Ul) 

Rude  winds,  perchance,  may  drive,  at  last, 
Our  baffled  flight  for  shelter  back  ; 

Cut  now,  we  heed  nor  threatening  blast, 
Nor  lowering  tempest's  angry  rack  : 
There's  none  so  weak,  of  spirit  slack, 

No  craven  soul,  no  idler  here, 

Who  shrinks  from  toil,  or  quails  at  fear. 

The  time  may  come,  when  faint  and  few, 
We  too  shall  tremble  on  the  verge, 

Should  youth's  bright  visions  prove  untrue, 
And  hope  lie  whelmed  beneath  the  surge  : 
But  now,  not  now,  such  terrors  urge  ; 

Our  onward  course  is  upward  still, 

Above  the  blight  of  earth-born  ill. 

If  thoughts  of  sudden  sadness  rise, 

To  shade  with  gloom  this  parting  hour  ; 

If  tears,  unbidden,  fill  our  eyes, 
'Tis  but  affection's  genial  shower  : 
And  though  awhile  such  cloud  may  lower, 

Its  rainbow  hues,  around  us  cast, 

Shine  clear  above  the  parting  blast. 

Then  friends  !   farewell.     If  ne'er  again 
We  meet  on  earth,  when  sundered  here, 

Yet  oft,  from  many  a  distant  plain, 

Our  thoughts  shall  turn,  through  life's  career, 
To  watch,  well  pleased,  each  classmate  dear, 

His  sorrows  soothe,  his  worth  make  known, 

And  deem  his  triumphs  all  our  own. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Few  be  those  sorrows  ;   clear  and  bright 
The  paths  of  triumph  that  ye  tread  ; 

Manly  your  aim,  as  bold  your  flight, 
While  happy  stars  serenely  shed 
Selectest  influence  on  each  head  ; 

And,  e'en  in  hours  of  darkest  fate, 

May  hope  o'er  all  predominate. 


THE    DEPARTURE. 
SEPTEMBER  1,  1809. 


Farewell  !  a  word  that  must  be,  anil  hath  been  ; 
A  word  which  makes  us  linger,  —  yet,  —  farewell  '. 

BTRO.V. 


And  must  I  leave,  in  truth,  thy  classic  halls, 

My  Alma  Mater  !  thy  parental  care, 

So  soon  forego?     Fain  would  I  breathe  thine  air, 
Still  in  these  groves  ;   but  other  duty  calls  : 
The  hour  is  come,  and  lo  !  the  curtain  falls 

On  life's  prime  act.     The  steed,  that  must  convey 

Thy  lingering  son,  to  distant  scenes  away, 
Stands  harnessed  at  the  gate  ;   he  champs  the  bit. 

Throws  high  his  bridled  head,  with  frequent  neiofh. 

And  paws,  impatient  of  his  lord's  delay; 
Nor  longer  now  the  adverse  fates  permit. 

Then  farewell,  Harvard  !  —  vvhereso'er  I  stray, 
Thy  spirit  be  my  guide,  enlightened,  free, 
True  nurse  of  virtue,  knowledge,  liberty! 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  121 

THE    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION. 

SEPTEMBER  8,  1836. 

And  doth  not  a  meeting'  like  this  make  amends 
For  all  the  long  years  I've  been  wandering  away  ? 

To  see  thus  around  me  my  youth's  early  friends, 
As  smiling  and  kind  as  in  that  happy  day. 

MOORE. 

Among  the  thousands  I  was  one, 

A  son  of  Harvard,  on  the  day, 
When  twice  an  hundred  years  had  run, 

Who  thronged  her  festival  array. 

No  signs  of  age,  or  time's  decay, 
Saddened  her  brow  ;   but  in  their  stead, 

A  youthful  glow,  mild  virtue's  ray, 
Her  venerable  face  with  joy  o'erspread. 

Unchanged,  like  star,  or  ocean  still, 

That  pours  its  rays,  or  waves,  as  bright, 
As  pure,  as  when  the  shore,  and  hill, 

Felt  first  the  flood,  and  hailed  the  light ; 

A  morn,  with  no  preceding  night ; 
A  sun,  that  into  perfect  day 

Soars  upward,  with  resistless  might, 
To  roll  the  mental  darkness  far  away. 

Ye  lofty  domes,  ye  ancient  halls  ! 

Learning's  secure  and  calm  retreat, 
Glad  I  revisit  your  loved  walls, 

The  muse's  home,  fair  virtue's  seat  ; 
11 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Where  oft  my  youth,  in  converse  meet 
Of  kindred  souls,  the  fountains  sought 

Of  knowledge  pure,  communion  sweet, 
In  happy  interchange  of  lasting  thought. 

How  high  our  young  ambition  soared  ! 

Knowledge  acquired,  and  deathless  fame, 
The  paths  of  science  wide  explored, 

Riches,  and  power  attained,  a  name, 

Beloved  as  honored,  and  a  frame 
Where  health  with  manly  beauty  joined  : 

Such  lofty  hopes  we  dared  proclaim, 
Nor  seemed  they  weak  or  vain  to  youth's  fond  miiu 

Alas  how  changed  !  how  swift  the  flight 

Of  trackless  time,  —  since  thirty  years 
Have  vanished,  like  a  star  by  night, 

That  sparkles,  shoots,  and  disappears. 

The  dreams  of  youth,  its  hopes,  its  fears, 
Its  fancied  joys,  and  triumphs  rife, 

Are  gone  ;  nor  more  such  prospect  cheers 
The  stern  realities  of  later  life. 

Yet  manhood,  and  approaching  age 

Have  joys  that  sooth,  and  hopes  that  soar, 
Though  softened  by  reflection  sage, 

And  sobered  by  experience  more. 

If  now  the  aims  that  roused  of  yore, 
In  reason's  eye  vain  dreams  appear, 

Fancy  can  still  their  forms  restore, 
In  hues  of  youth  to  grateful  memory  dear. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  128 

Bat  hopes,  that  firmer  grasp  their  hold, 
And  nobler  thoughts  to  age  belong  : 

High  thoughts,  that  ripening  years  unfold, 
And  cherished  hopes,  by  time  made  strong  : 
And,  Harvard  !  here  amidst  the  throng, 

The  humblest  votary  in  thy  train, 
I  feel,  while  swells  the  parting  song, 

Thy  spirit  hath  not  touched  my  heart  in  vain. 

'Tis  not  in  vain  that  now  I  breathe 

Thy  classic  air  amid  these  glades  ; 
That  here,  these  sacred  groves  beneath, 

Thy  spirit  all  my  soul  invades. 

'Tis  night  —  but  night  in  vain  her  shades 
Spreads  round  us  here  ;  these  ancient  halls 

The  genius  of  the  spot  pervades, 
Bright  as  the  rays  that  stream  from  yonder  walls. 

Radiant  as  now,  with  living  light 

Still,  Harvard  !  may  thy  glories  shine  : 

Be  virtue,  honour,  freedom,  right, 
And  faith's  pure  dictates  ever  thine  : 
Draw  still,  from  learning's  richest  mine, 

Time's  choicest  treasure,  knowledge,  wrought 
Laborious,  at  truth's  inmost  shrine, 

?>y  minds  untrammelled,  with  deep  wisdom  fraught. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


CONCLUSIO  X. 


TO  THE  READER. 

"  Is  this  too  much  ?  stern  critic  !  say  not  so  :" 

This  line  of  Byron,  haply,  may  presage, 
Reader  !  thy  thought,  which  prompts  thee  to  bestow 

Harsh  censure  on  the  poet's  luckless  page. 
Yet  pardon,  for  his  sake,  th'  unfinished  strain  ; 

To  him  this  retrospect  of  early  days 
Hath  pleasure  given,  unmixed  with  touch  of  pain. 

Forgive  his  raptures,  then,  who  thus  can  gaze 
On  joys  long  past,  till  waning  years  forget 
Their  downward  course,  and  life  seems  youthful  yet. 

If  tedious  prove  the  strain,  'tis  ended  here  : 
Or,  kindlier  bent,  if  further  thou  would'st  go, 

New  scenes  of  wider  scope  may  yet  appear, 
"  If  he  that  rhymeth  now  may  scribble  moo," 


OV3EB1X 


OTHER     POEMS. 


KING    PHILIP. 


\Ve  call  them  savage  —  O  be  just ! 

Their  outraged  feelings  scan  : 
A  voice  conies  forth,  —  'tis  from  the  dust  — 

The  savage  was  a  man.         SPRAGUE. 


ON  Mount  Hope,  mid  his  council  fires, 

Stood  Philip,  by  the  aged  oak; 
Surrounded  by  his  chiefs  and  sires, 

'Twas  thus  the  indignant  warrior  spoke  : 

Ye  messengers  !  who  here  have  borne 

The  white  man's  threatenings,  —  turn  again, 

And  with  you  bear  the  Red  Man's  scorn, 
The  language  of  his  proud  disdain. 

A  feeble  race  your  fathers  came, 
Driven,  as  ye  said,  abroad  to  roam  ; 

We  nursed  you,   warmed  you,  at  our  flame, 
And  gave  you  on  our  shores  a  home. 

Our  choicest  haunts  on  hill  and  plain, 
The  stream,  the  forest,  wide  and  free, 

We  gave  ;  and  bade  you  here  remain, 
On  terms  of  frank  equality. 


128  KING    PIIIMP. 

We  gave  ;  though  you  the  deed  disguised 
With  terms  of  sale,  your  pride  to  save  : 

As  if  your  paltry  gifts  you  prized 
Above  the  mighty  boon  we  gave. 

Like  friends  we  held  you,  nay,  far  more, 
Esteemed  your  race  above  our  own  ; 

As  if,  descending  on  our  shore, 

The  Gods  in  you  their  power  made  known 

And  still  ye  came,  like  waves  that  run, 
Before  the  storm,  along  the  beach  : 

E'en  now  the  flood  seems  scarce  begun, 
That  soon  above  our  hills  may  reach. 

My  simple  faith,  deceived  with  ease, 
Was  early  caught,  in  falsehood's  snare  : 

Till  all  my  study  was  to  please 

The  white  man,  and  his  favour  share. 

'Twas  therefore  took  I  Christian  name, 
And  in  your  foreign  language  spoke  ; 

That  so  I  might,  with  less  of  shame, 
Receive,  at  last,  the  Christian  yoke. 

Ye  said  that  yoke  would  easy  prove, 
And  told  how  light  its  burdens  were  ; 

But  I  have  tried  your  Christian  love, 
And  know  that  yoke,  how  hard  to  bear, 

In  English  faith  and  honour  too, 
E'n  less  of  trust  can  I  repose  ; 
still  have  found  you  base,  untrue, 
Friends  in  your  speech,  in  action  foes. 


KING    PHILIP. 

Your  God  may  stronger  prove  than  mine, 
And  triumph  to  your  arms  secure  ; 

Vet  in  the  Red  man's  God  divine, 
Who  taught  his  warrior  to  endure. 

The  ills,  he  cannot  shun,  he  knows, 
With  stern  composure,  to  sustain  ; 

Unmoved  amidst  insulting  foes, 
Triumphant  over  mortal  pain. 

I  know  your  strength,  yet  fear  it  not, 
The  thunder  of  your  deadly  arms, 

The  vollied  blast,  death-dealing  shot, 
Beyond  the  powa's  subtlest  charms. 

Yet  not  for  that  will  I  forego 

These  pleasant  hills,  our  forests  fair, 

The  sea's  wild  waves,  that  roll  below, 
Our  loved  abodes,  and  native  air. 

Old  ocean,  beating  at  our  feet, 

As  soon  this  Hill  of  Hope  shall  move, 

As  we  resign  our  native  seat, 

Or  yield  to  you  the  land  we  love. 

The  fount's  pure  crystal  from  yon  cave, 
That  slaked,  of  yore,  our  father's  thirst, 

Would  cease  to  roll  its  limpid  wave, 
Should  we  forsake  their  treasured  dust. 

This  ancient  oak,  these  moss-grown  stones, 
This  cherished  home  of  all  our  race  — • 

We  will  not  leave  our  father's  bones, 
Nor  move  them  from  their  resting  place. 


KINC     PHILIP. 

fjio  then,  and,  in  your  council  h-ill, 
Repeat,  that  Philip  yet  is  free  ; 

No  more  deceived,  no  more  your  thrall 
lie  strikes  for  Death  or  Liberty  ! 

And  if,  through  all  your  startled  land. 
The  Redman's  war-cry  ring  around  : 

If  thrown  aloft,  the  blazing  brand 

Fall  in  the  blood  that  stains  your  around  : 

Afar  and  near,  if  all  must  die, 
The  virgin  pure,  the  tender  wife, 

If  helpless  age,  if  infancy 

Must  plead  in  vain  for  forfeit  life  ; 

Remember,  Philip  never  sought 
The  war,  he  fears  not,  nor  desires  : 

On  your  own  heads  yourselves  have  brought 
The  death  blow,  and  avenging  fires. 

And  soon  those  fires  shall  blaze  on  high  : 
To  rouse  our  tribes,  from  south  to  north, 

My  wampum  belts,  of  raven  die 

And  blood  red  beads,  have  travelled  forth. 

And  answering  to  our  just  appeal, 

Their  fires  are  lit,  their  war  notes  sung  ; 

With  hearts,  tli  it  all  your  insults  feel, 
And  nerves  for  vengeance  strung. 

O  O 

The  strife  is  mortal  :  henceforth  vain 
Be  thought  of  pnrley,  truce,  or  peace; 

The  Red  Man  conquers,  or  is  slain, 
lie  triumphs,  or  his  race  must  cease. 


LOVE    AND    GLORV.  131 

He  fears  not  :  e'en  should  foul  defeat 
His  steps  pursue,   and  false  friends  fly, 

Philip  his  last  base  foe  will  meet, 

And  Mount  Hope  see  her  warrior  die. 


LOVE    AND    GLORY. 

<io,  saddle  my  steed,  said  the  brave  cavalier, 
Tis  the  voice  of  my  country,  it  sounds  in  my  ear, 
It  calls  me  to  battle,  o'er  hills  far  away, 
And  thy  Henry,  dear  Helen  !  no  longer  may  stay. 

And  must  we  then  sever,  said  Helen  the  fair  ; 
The  sun  of  our  hopes,  must  it  set  in  despair  ? 
Oh  !  heed  not  the  trumpet,  and  silence  yon  drum  ; 
ft  speaks  not  of  glory,  but  horrors  to  come, 

Of  carnage  and  slaughter,  and  blood  covered  fields, 
And  the  weeping  of  widows  the  music  it  yields  : 
Then  heed  not  its  temptings,  but  free  from  alarms, 
Find  glory  in  safety,  and  love  in  these  arms. 

Oh  Helen,  fair  Helen,  my  love,  he  replied, 
More  lovely,  more  fair,  as  in  danger  more  tried, 
Can'st  thou  tempt  me,  unhappy  !  my  fame  to  forego, 
That  life  of  my  love,  from  base  dread  of  the  foe  ? 

The  summons  to  fight  should  I  meanly  withstand, 
When  the  tempest  of  war  hangs  in  blood  o'er  the  land. 
Could  those  arms  of  thy  beauty  encircle  me  then, 
The  scorn  of  the  lovely,  the  outcast  of  men  ? 


1'  LOVE    AND    GLORY. 

Then  go,  she  replied,  since  'tis  fortune's  decree, 
The  leader  of  armies,  the  valiant,  the  free  : 
The  fame  of  thy  valour,  it  won  me  at  first, 
I  cannot,  I  will  not,  to  that  be  unjust. 

The  heart  of  the  lovely  beats  high  in  its  pride, 
As  her  soft  trembling  hand  belts  the  sword  to  his  side. 
Then  go,  she  exclaimed,  —  and  may  glory  still  join 
The  laurel  she  wreaths,  with  the  myrtle  I  twine. 

The  warrior  hath  gone  to  the  field  in  his  might, 
For  freedom,  his  country,  her  glory  to  fight  ; 
And  the  heart  of  fair  Helen,  in  love  still  the  same, 
Now  weeps  o'er  his  absence,  now  joys  in  his  fame. 

From  conquest  returning,  with  glory  surrounded, 
The  fame  of  that  warrior  afar  hath  resounded  ; 
But  heartless  and  vain  was  the  joy  that  he  felt, 
Till,  joined  at  the  altar,  with  Helen  he  knelt. 

Toil,  danger,  suspense,  were  forgot  in  that  hour, 
Thy  rainbow,  O  Hope!  spanned  their  love  lighted  bower 
The  fever  of  glory  by  love  was  beguiled, 
And  Henry  was  happy,  if  Helen  but  smiled. 


THE    COQUETTE    DISTRESSED.  133 


THE    COQUETTE    DISTRESSED. 


My  lovers  all  tell  me  I'm  handsome  and  gay, 
They  natter  my  beauty,  which  soon  will  decay, 
They  talk  of  my  charms,  of  their  love,  and  their  strife, 
But  none  ever  told  me  he  wanted  a  wife  ! 

I  play,  and  they  praise  me  ;   I  sing,  and  they  cry 
How  charming  her  voice  !  how  bewitching  her  sigh  ! 
I  join  in  the  dance,  they  exclaim,  how  divine  ! 
But  none  never  asked  me  in  marriage  to  join. 

I  need  but  appear  on  the  plain,  and  they  swear 
No  form  is  so  perfect,  no  maiden  so  fair  ; 
I'm  followed  and  flattered,  wherever  I  fly, 
Yet  single  I  live,  and  ah !  single  must  die. 

Oh  would  that  this  weary  flirtation  might  end  ; 
With  lovers  in  plenty,  yet  never  a  friend, 
My  heart,  like  the  shadow  that  follows  the  sun, 
Seeks  each  in  its  turn,  but  rests  steady  on  none. 

Youth,  beauty,  enjoyment  not  always  will  stay, 
My  bright  dawn  of  hope,  it  melts  quickly  away  ; 
Then  oh  !  ere  its  happy  illusions  are  past, 
May  love  fix  my  wide  wandering'wishes  at  last. 

12 


HENRY    TO    ELLEN. 

HENRY    TO     ELLEN. 
I. 

Tis  still  the  same,  'twas  so  of  yore, 
True  love  and  fortune  ne'er  combine  : 

Since  then,  alas  !  we  meet  no  more, 
Farewell,  dear  maid  !  no  longer  mine. 

What  though,  at  first,  thy  friends  esteemed 
Me,  humbly  born,  no  mate  for  thee  ; 

Yet  by  their  license,  as  it  seemed, 
Early  thy  love  was  pledged  to  me. 

From  cold  restraint  and  caution  freed, 
What  either  felt  the  other  knew  : 

So  well  our  secret  thoughts  agreed, 
That  love,  true  love,  between  us  grew. 

At  first,    scarce  felt,  a  gentle  heat, 

Which  well  such  youthful  hearts  became. 

It  grew,  with  growing  years,  complete, 
And  shone  in  both  an  equal  flame. 

Happy,  I  cried,  whom  heaven  ordains 

Love's  boundless  wealth  with  thee  to  share 

Thy  smile  shall  recompense  his  pains, 
Thy  presence  banish  grief  and  care. 

And  then  I  deemed  such  fortune  mine, 
And  blest  the  hours,  to  care  unknown, 


HENRY.  135 

While  gazing  on  that  smile  of  thine, 
And  living  in  thy  love  alone. 

But  fate  decrees  that  we  should  part ; 

Yet  still  in  kindness  let  it  be  : 
Thou  wilt  not  find  a  truer  heart, 

Nor  I  seek  other  love  than  thee. 

Then  oh  !  farewell  !  I  would  not  shade 
Thy  coming  bliss,  with  my  dark  fate  ; 

Nor  ask  thy  thoughts  to  share,  dear  maid  ! 
The  griefs  that  on  my  wanderings  wait. 

When  death  shall  calm  this  throbbing  breast, 
(Glad  would  I  now  his  terrors  brave,) 

Thou  wilt  not  scorn  my  lowly  rest, 
But  shed  one  tear  above  my  grave. 

One  tender  tear,  still  fondly  true 

To  youthful  loves,  in  days  of  yore, 
To  blighted  hopes  and  sorrows  due  ; 

Then  turn,  and  think  of  me  no  more. 


HENRY. 
II. 

Oh  !  ask  not  the  cause  why  so  oft  I  retire, 
If,  secret,  I  weep  o'er  the  days  that  are  past ; 

You  see  me  now  cheerful,  then  do  not  require 
That  joys  like  the  present  forever  should  last. 


13G  ELLEN. 

When  others  are  happy,  I  join  in  their  mirth, 
I  feel  that  their  pleasure  gives  pleasure  to  me  ; 

But  further  than  this,  I  expect  not,  on  earth, 
Nor  hope,  like  the  past,  that  the  future  will  be. 

For  he  that  has  once  loved  can  ne'er  love  again  ; 

The  face  may,  at  times,  with  a  smile  be  o'erspread, 
The  wound  may  be  closed,  but  the  scar  will  remain, 

And  the  heart  in  the  midst  of  its  pleasures  lie  dead. 

Then  blame  not  the  sadness  that  sometimes  is  seen, 
In  moments  of  mirth,  o'er  my  features  to  steal ; 

Full  soon  will  it  pass,  and  my  brow  grow  serene, 
The  smile  will  return,  and  my  heart  cease  to  feel. 


ELLEN. 


III. 

Shade  of  my  Henry  !  hast  thou  gone, 

And  left  thy  loved  one  here  alone. 

Ah  !  when  that  fatal  parting  past, 

I  little  deemed  'twould  prove  our  last. 

We  parted  —  thou  o'er  ocean  borne, 

And  I  to  weep  till  thy  return  — 

Till  thy  return  !  in  vain,  alas, 

I  chide  the  hours  that  slowly  pass, 

And  fondly  hope  these  arms,  once  more, 

May  clasp  thee,  on  thy  native  shore  — 


ELLEN.  137 

Never,  —  unless  in  dreams,  by  night, 
Thy  form  should  come,  to  cheat  my  sight, 
And  in  thy  watery  shroud  repair 
From  ocean's  caves  to  realms  of  air. 

Yet  come  not  so  ;  I  could  not  brook 
One  moment  on  that  form  to  look  ; 
That  livid  cheek,  and  pallid  brow, 
Oh  !  I  could  not  endure  it  now. 
But  come,  as  when,  in  warmth  of  youth, 
We  pledged  our  mutual  love  and  truth  ; 
And  vowed,  by  all  that  lovers  prize, 
Time  ne'er  should  break  those  tender  ties  ; 
And  life  itself  should  sooner  part, 
Than  each  loved  image  from  the  heart. 
Then  come  once  more  ;  and,  for  a  while, 
Thy  presence  shall  my  tears  beguile  ; 
And,  in  my  joy,  I  may  forget 
Tis  but  a  dream,  and  clasp  thee  yet. 

The  world's  neglect,  that  bore  thee  down, 
Ne'er  drew  from  me  one  angry  frown  ; 
And  when  o'erlooked  by  all  beside, 
Thou  wert  my  hope,  my  joy,  my  pride. 
Howe'er  unworthy  in  their  view, 
To  me  thou  still  wert  kind  and  true  ; 
And  I  will  to  thy  memory  be 
As  kind  and  true  as  thou  to  me ; 
For  to  the  last,  'gainst  others'  will, 
I  loved  thee,  and  I  love  thee  still. 
12* 


138  FIRST    WEEK    IN    JUNE. 

E'en  time,  that  brings  to  all  relief, 

May  sooth,  but  cannot  cure  my  grief; 

For  there  are  thoughts  will  not  depart, 

Words  that  are  written  on  the  heart, 

And  lines  of  love,  so  deeply  traced, 

They  will  not,  cannot  be  effaced. 

How  fair  soe'er  the  future  scene, 

It  will  not  be  as  it  has  been. 

The  plant  of  love,  in  life's  frail  bower, 

Mid  many  leaves,  bears  but  one  flower  ; 

The  hand  that  crops  that  opening  gem, 

Leaves  but  a  bare  and  barren  stem  ; 

For  though,  in  time,  fresh  boughs  may  shoot. 

And  leaves  put  forth,  they  bear  no  fruit. 

Love  only  in  warm  bosoms  thrives  ; 

And,  blighted  once,  no  more  revives. 


FIRST    WEEK    IN    J  U  N  K. 


Spring  is  hut  the  child 
Of  churlish  Winter  ;  in  her  frowarcl  moods, 
Discovering  much  the  temper  of  her  sire. 

COWPEK. 


In  milder  climes,  the  charms  of  May 
Wax  wanton  in  the  poet's  lay  : 
When  verdure  springs,  and  flowers  unfold, 
Her  praise  is  sung,  her  beauties  told. 

With  us,  alas  !  not  seen  so  soon, 
The  month  of  flowers  is  fragrant  June  : 


FIRST    WEEK    IN    JUNE.  130 

Not  sooner  winter  chills  are  fled  ; 
Or,  if  at  times  unfelt,  we  dread 
Their  quick  return  ;  nor  safe  repose, 
Till  June  unfolds  the  blushing  rose, 
And  leads,  once  more,  his  feathery  loves, 
To  warble  in  the  new  clad  groves  : 
Or  pauses,  mid  the  flowers,  to  see 
The  humming  bird,  and  honey  bee, 
And  scent  the  garden's  rich  delight, 
From  lilac,  and  from  hawthorn  white, 
From  fleur  de  lis,  and  daflfadil, 
And  fragrant  currant's  yellow  bell  ; 
While  flowering  almonds  clustering  twine 
With  snow-ball,  and  with  columbine, 
Mid  honeysuckle's  rich  perfume, 
And  gaudy  tulip's  varied  bloom. 

Such  opening  flowers  and  foliage  green, 
To  me  make  spring,  whenever  seen  ; 
The  only  spring,  'twixt  winter's  snows, 
And  summer's  heat,  our  climate  knows  : 
All  else  is  bleak  December's  sway, 
Though  cradled  in  the  lap  of  May. 
Then  welcome  be  the  flowery  June, 
Though  slow  to  come,  and  passing  soon  : 
Though  slow  to  come,  yet  scattering  wide 
His  bounties  free,  on  every  side  ; 
Though  parting  soon,  yet  blithe  of  cheer, 
The  sweetest  month  in  all  the  year. 


140  THE    RED    OAK. 

CONJUNCTION    OF    VENUS 
WITH    THE    MOON. 


Turn  to  the  heavens  thy  gaze,  where  yonder  star 
Hangs,  gem-like,  on  the  moon's  pale  crest  :  the  brow 
Of  lone  Diana  beams  with  sparkles  now 

Of  Cytherea's  flame.     Above  the  jar 

Of  earth-born  jealousies,  they  haste  afar, 
The  immortal  sisters,  oft  as  fates  allow, 

To  meet,  and  mingle  rays.     Wide  o'er  the  plain 

They  roam,  rejoicing,  yet  return  again, 

From  boundless  ether  ;  drawn  by  gentle  vow 

Of  sisterly  endearment,  to  renew 

This  union  fair,  to  tender  feeling  due. 
Talk  not,  misjudging  !  of  mechanic  laws 
That  guide  the  stars  ;  'tis  nobler  impulse  draws 

Those  happy  orbs,  to  love's  attraction  true. 


THE    RED    OAK. 

I. 

The  early  poets  fondly  deemed  they  dwelt 
A  hamadryad  in  each  glorious  tree  ; 

And  who,  that  loves  the  forest,  has  not  felt 
How  meet  such  living  dwelling-place  would  be 


THE    HEP    OAK.  141 

For  spirit,  lulled  by  zephyrs,  as  they  pa<t, 
Or  roused  to  transport  by  the  roaring  blast. 

Behold  yon  lofty  oak,  beside  whose  base 
Our  puny  height  seems  dwindled  to  a  span  ! 
And  were  it  not,  in  this  frail  bodied  man 

A  spirit  dwells,  which  widest  space 

Can  ne'er  confine,  nor  thought  its  movements  trace, 
This  oak  were  fashioned  on  a  nobler  plan, 
And  fairer  formed,  than  aught  that  eye  could  scan 

Of  outward  grandeur  in  the  human  race. 


II. 


Calm  rising,  mid  the  flow  of  ages  past, 
What  generations  of  the  world  around 
This  tree  hath  witnessed,  growing  mid  the  sound 
Of  earthly  passions,  —  joys  that  would  not  last, 
And  griefs  that  seemed  eternal,  yet  have  cast 

No  lasting  shade.     Here,  on  this  rising  ground, 
Alone,  with  no  obscuring  height  between, 
It  towers  sublime,  from  neighbouring  hamlets  seen, 
A  land-mark  wide  !   its  shapely  column  crowned 
With  graceful  coronet  of  living  green. 

Pause  then,  O  generous  axman  !  nor  o'erthrow 
This  glory  of  the  grove  :  so  may  the  flight 
Of  years  fall  gently  on  thee  ;  nor  the  blight 
Of  death  untimely  lay  thy  branches  low  ! 


IV  O  T  E  S. 


THE  ABBOT  JUBILEE,  p.  47. 

THESE  lines  were  written  for  the  Festival  given  in  honour  of  my  old 
Preceptor,  Benjamin  Abbot,  L.L.  D.,  on  his  retirement  from  the  Phillips 
Exeter  Academy,  after  a  service,  in  that  institution,  of  fifty  years.  This 
meeting,  which  was  attended  by  some  of  the  first  scholars  and  statesmen 
of  New-England,  will  long  be  remembered,  by  those  present,  as  a 
happy  union  of  social  feeling  and  intellectual  enjoyment. 

CONTEMPLATION  I,  p.  57. 

The  author  is  aware  that  the  names  of  his  classmates,  which  occur  in 
this  and  other  poems,  will  be,  to  most  of  his  readers,  little  more  than  un 
meaning  expletives ;  since,  with  two  exceptions,  they  are  the  names  of 
persons  who  died  young,  and  unknown  to  fame.  To  the  author  they 
stood  in  a  different,  and  more  interesting  relation.  In  the  most  suscepti 
ble  period  of  life,  they  were  efficient  agents  in  the  devclopcment  of  both 
his  social  feelings  and  his  mental  powers.  In  looking  back  to  the  past, 
he  finds,  in  the  remembrance  of  their  virtues,  inspiration  for  his  present 
undertaking,  which  he  might  not  otherwise  have  felt. 

In  pursuance  of  the  author's  general  design  of  exhibiting,  not  imagina 
ry  scenes,  but  the  thoughts  and  feelings  excited  by  real  occurrences,  he 
could  not  well  avoid  mentioning  some,  at  least,  of  the  friends  with  whom 
he  was  most  intimate.  As  several  of  these  died,  soon  after  leaving  Col 
lege,  he  has  avoided  the  indecorum  of  introducing,  even  for  the  purpose 
of  praise,  the  names  of  persons,  whose  feelings  might  be  hurt,  by  such  un 
authorised  intrusion  on  their  privacy.  There  are  among  his  College  as 
sociates  others,  still  living,  with  whom,  under  different  circumstances,  he 
would  have  been  happy  to  connect  his  name,  in  these  pages. 


144 


CONTEMPLATION  II.  p.  .58. 

Ichabod  Nichols  and  John  Farrar  were  the  author's  instruclers  in  Ge 
ometry  and  Mathematics  ;  and,  if  he  derived  little  benefit  from  their  labors, 
it  was  no  fault  of  theirs,  but  wholly  of  their  pupil.  They  have  since  be 
come  extensively  known  by  their  writings  —  Professor  Farrar  in  his  own 
department  of  Mathematics  and  Natural  Philosophy,  and  Dr.  Nichols  in 
Theology. 

THE  BIRTH  OF  TRUTH,  p.  10k 

These  lines  were  suggested  by  the  following  characteristic,  but  some 
what  coarse  passage  of  Milton.  "  Truth  is  as  impossible  to  be  soiled,  by 
any  outward  touch,  as  the  sun  beam.  Though  this  ill  hap  wait  on  her 
nativity,  that  she  never  comes  into  the  world,  but,  like  a  bastard,  to  the 
ignominy  of  him  that  brought  her  forth  :  till  time,  the  midwife  rather  than 
the  mother  of  truth,  have  washed  and  salted  the  infant,  declared  her  le 
gitimate,  and  churched  the  father  of  his  young  Minerva,  from  the  needless 
causes  of  his  purgation." 

THE  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION,  p.  121. 

Tliis  piece,  though  standing  so  near  the  close,  was  among  the  first 
written  of  this  collection,  which  grew,  in  a  great  measure,  out  of  the 
author's  thoughts  and  feelings,  on  that  interesting  occasion.  Many  per 
sons  met,  at  that  celebration,  who  had  not  seen  each  other  before,  since 
they  left  College;  and  the  contrast  between  the  boy  of  1809,  and  the 
man  of  1836  was,  in  some  cases,  sufficiently  striking.  But  the  pain  of 
perceiving  that  they  were  no  longer  young,  was  soon  lost  in  more  pleas 
ing  recollections. 


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